The Grand Budapest Hotel 

Ah Wes Anderson. A thoroughly well turned out pleasant gentlemen who still succeeds in leaving me extremely divided about his body of work. Through the years I’ve veered as erractically as some his edit cuts from near loathing (I cannot for the life of me get behind Rushmore), to underwhelming (Darjeeling Limited anyone?) to adoration (Royal Tenenbaums, Moonrise Kingdom and now Grand Budapest Hotel). I’ve found that there are several school of thoughts, one can belong to when it comes to Wes Anderson films. The main ones being that you either love the quintessential tweeness of his films or you hate them. If you can get on board with his distinctive style then there are further groups which arise of which the viewer can take membership in. There are those who stay faithful to Anderson’s early work, while being less receptive to the more visually flamboyant latter and vice versa. As I only really zeroed in on Anderson post Royal Tenanbaums and then worked my way retrospectively, I found that I’m a bit of a dissenter of the hardcore Anderson fans. I much prefer his latter more showier stuff. Grand Budapest Hotel being my favorite of them all.

Grand Budapest Hotel for me was a film that was just pure unadulterated fun, a familiar almost cozy escapism (such is the expectation of Anderson’s irreverent style). I found myself relishing this because while watching I realised this had been experienced in my extensive film-watching adventures for quite some time. Even for the marketed feel-good films such as 20 Feet From Stardom has a distinct sense of melancholy and sadness of dreams not realised underneath the deserved celebratory tones. Grand Budapest Hotel is a romp. But a romp with specific meaning. Symbolism pulses through the film and it’s the symbolism that gives the film it’s moral backbone. Beyond all it’s irreverence, the film celebrates the world of old Europe that it so meticulously recreates, it’s pomp and costumery and the fun derived from all of it. More poignantly the film celebrates it’s inhabitants, particularly it’s protagonist Gustav H. As the bastion of pacifism. His highest good shines behind his own vanity, pomp and miscreant behaviour. When faced the overwhelming ascent of evil, he refuses to bow.

It is the aesthetics that first alerts the viewer to the campiness of the situation. It’s as cartoonish as Fantastic Mr Fox. So ungrounded in reality, the film feels like a children’s film for adults (if that at all makes a lick of sense). The first thing that suggests this almost fantasy like world is the colour scheme – pastel colours. The world in which The Grand Budapest Hotel resides is like a giant nursery, housing adult babies. Definitive of Anderson’s style is the minute and exact is the detail in the set design, the costumes and even the camera position. It’s all here in abundance. The specificity of things like the positioning of props and the characters’ marks in relation to each other creates an unreal world that is probably as surreal as any of Anderson’s films. Everything is meticulously constrained in appearance and delivery but at the same completely cartoonish and outlandish. It’s a world completely alien to the audience but at the back of the mind one thinks of the possibility of such a world existing (the film is set at at the brink of war with the invading army quite blatantly resembling that of the Nazis). As it is set in the past, its even easier to imagine such a world could exist, such is the influence time and history can have on a person’s ability to suspend their disbelief. This is a re-imagined world of which I had fun being in.

I keep drawing back to the lighthearted nature of the story because this air of whimsy is what makes the film. Some dissenters claim that the film distastefully makes light of murder and violence, as the film recounts the adventures of lobby boy Zero Mustafa (Tony Revolari) when he becomes the trusted friend of legendary concierge Gustavo H (Ralph Fiennes). I can only harp back to the fact everything in the film is dealt with a light slightly dismissive hand. From the themes of love, murder, friendship and loss, to the setting and the acting, it’s a film that symbolizes how silly we are to take everything so seriously. The film has people walking up a fake mountain to then ski down at impossible cartoon like speeds. Where were you hoping the serious discussion points to be made? This is a film heavy on symbolism but light on preaching. Beyond all that, I will relent that there is still a sense of melancholy and longing for a time lost to the ages.

What was an absolute revelation for me was the central performance from Ralph Fiennes as Gustavo H. Partly a consequence of casting choices and partly the adopted persona he seems intent on embracing, I had previously presumed Ralph Fiennes to be a somewhat dour po-faced personality, far too serious and singular minded about his art to have any sense of fun in filmmaking. All I had ever seen him be was a variation of the tortured soul type and so typecast in this role was he, I began to think this was a case of art imitating life. When I heard he was to be the lead in a Wes Anderson film, I presumed that either this was a case of stunt casting or Anderson was taking a whole different route. In actuality, what happened was a stroke of genius, in both casting and acting. Fiennes is perfect as Gustavo, simultaneously, charming, smarmy, ruthless and honourable, all played with a sense of playfulness and wit in perfect alignment with the film’s tone.

All the lauding shouldn’t just go to Fiennes as I equally enjoyed the film’s other lead Tony Revolari as Zero. Impressively holding his own amongst seasoned players of both the silver screen and Anderson’s particular brand of acting, Tony’s portrayal of Zero, is in sympatico with Fiennes Gustavo, with his fair share of opportunities for comedic flare. Revolari, appearing like a seasoned pro will be one to watch. In general all the performances were extremely fun, particular attention being paid to Tilda Swinton, seemingly relishing her hilarious brief cameo as Madame D and Willem Defoe perfectly cast as silent assassin Joplin (reminding me of how enjoyable he is when he brushes of the shackles of dramatic restraint and just turns his performance up to 11).Some performances were a little redundant (Harvey Keitel anyone?) but their parts are so small, they barely warrant the title cameos. It seems they just wanted to be part of the fun only for a day of filming. And who wouldn’t?

There’s little to fault about the film because that would involve taking it more seriously than it took itself. It plays as an enjoyable nostalgic romp. And it succeeds as such. In addition, it’s wonderfully written, impeccably filmed and wonderfully acted. A warm and fun film that makes a fine cinematic experience.

The film is still on general release so please catch it if you can.

The Past

From the sublime to the humdrum, I come now to The Past. Wait. That’s a little harsh. While not expecting a cinematic feast of visuals and quick one-liners exchanged at lightning speed like the above film, I was expecting to like this latest offering from director Ashgar Farhadi,  who’s previous feature A Separation, completely captivated me (it still retains a high place on my permanent recommends list). Like A Separation, The Past is a complex drama that examines the tenuous and intricate relationships affected by one event. We follow Ahmad (Ali Mosaffa), a quiet Iranian man, who returns to France to finalise his divorce from his estranged French wife Marie (Berenice Bejo). Reluctantly forced to stay at Marie’s he is introduced to her new partner Samir (Tahar Rahim)  and his young son. Over the course of his stay he learns what has been happening in his absence including the tragic footnote to Marie and Samir’s relationship and the cause of the deep unhappiness of Marie’s older daughter Lucie (Pauline Burlet).

This is a heavy film. In the sense that the air of resentment, the unspoken anger, fear and pain permeates the film, making it feel oppressive. It is wonderfully executed with captivating scenes where what is said is so obviously not what is meant. This especially apparent in the first half of the film. When emotions are just bubbling under the surface that’s when the film is at it’s best. However, the inevitable eruptions from all this repressed emotions, while left to the last moments in A Separation, happen about midway here. As a consequence, the film slips into melodrama and the emotional payoff is somewhat flat.

Bejo’s Marie is the common link in these scenes and as a character is someone who I had issues with throughout the film. A character laden with guilt, anger and abandonment issues, it’s obvious she’s an unhappy soul but she is played somewhat less than expertly by Bejo. Bejo, in my opinion is miscast in the role and looks uncomfortable in the process and not because her character is miserable. There were more than a couple of moments where her performance reminded me of Halle Berry in Monster’s Ball (but thankfully less hammy). That is not a compliment.While not a disastrous performance like her aforementioned contemporary, the subtlety in performance displayed by her co-stars in particular Ali Mosaffa, the epitome of gentility and restraint, is not always shared by Bejo. This is especially true as in the film’s second half as the moments of hysterics threaten to undo the restrained subtlety that preceded it.

All the blame can not be laid on the shoulders of Bejo, the writing is also at fault. While beautifully written for a good two thirds of the run time, the story as a whole is not strong enough for the overall two hours and ten minutes. The film really begins to meander around the 90 minute mark and the film still has another 40 minutes to go. It was notable at this time that the story became somewhat self indulgent and a little heavy-handed. All the quiet observations where meaning is extracted from small moments and gestures is replaced with dramatic sub plots and unnecessary histrionics.

Much of the success of Farhadi’s films lay in the subtlety of the performances. However likeable, unlikeable the characters on screen are, their portrayals and behaviours are relatable. Often too relatable. The realism in their actions ask the audiences to brutally examine their own behaviours should such situations occur. The answer being that more often than not however uncomfortable the actions on screen they wouldn’t be too far from what would happen in real life. This is precisely why A Separation works so well. An Iranian film where the subjects were relatable seemed like a revelation at the time. A Separation teaches the small moments in the human experience can regardless of setting and people involved can be universally understood. A strict adherence to realism and truth in examining simple human interaction is where A Separation‘s success lies. The Past, while with many hints of the same, loses some of the crucial elements that it’s predecessor had – a strict sense of place and time. This elements hold the tension of the former film and keeps it truly gripping to it’s final moments and while I like the final scene of The Past, it feels beautifully realised. It also feels like it’s from another film which goes to some way in demonstrating how the film loses it way.

The Past is a sympathetic, mature look at relationships. Like A Separation, it looks at the the idea of the responsibility of one’s own actions and the catastrophes that can happen when one refuses to accept the mistakes of their past. Unlike it’s predecessor, this message becomes a little muddled. The keen observations at once immediate and intense at the beginning bring a sense of truth and realism that is lost as the film progresses. At over two hours, the film can feel like a bit of a slog but there are still flashes of beautiful subtlety that fans of Farhardi will appreciate.

The Past is still being shown in selected cinemas.