Ralph Fiennes, Tony Revolori, Adrien Brody, Willem Dafoe, Saoirse Ronan, Edward Norton, Jeff Goldblum

Wes Anderson

At this point in Wes Anderson’s career, you either like his movies or you don’t, which is good news for fans of the eccentric director, because “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is very much a case of more of the same. You know what to expect when watching one of Anderson’s films, and his latest doesn’t disappoint, overflowing with colorful characters, zany plot twists and sublime production design. It’s also considerably darker than some of his past work, though Anderson’s trademark whimsy still bleeds through, resulting in a movie that, while hardly among his greatest achievements, proves yet again why he’s one of the best and most original directors around.

The movie is a bit like a Russian nesting doll in that it’s designed as a story within a story within a story, opening on a young girl reading a book about the titular hotel that was written by an unnamed author, portrayed at various ages by Tom Wilkinson in a brief 1985 flashback and Jude Law in 1968. It’s during the latter period that the author resided at the once-majestic Grand Budapest Hotel and learned of how its enigmatic owner, Zero Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham), came into its possession. And this is where the story truly begins, as Moustafa then recounts his early days working as a lobby boy (played by Tony Revolori) at the hotel under the guidance of charismatic concierge Gustave H. (Ralph Fiennes), a man whose expert hospitality extends to sexual favors for the old and wealthy female clientele. When one such guest (an aged-up Tilda Swinton) dies and leaves Gustave a priceless painting in exchange for years of companionship, the woman’s eldest son (Adrien Brody) frames him for her murder, forcing Gustave and Zero to go on the run until they can prove his innocence.

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