I remember seeing the trailer and feeling put off. Too much colour, too much exaggeration, too much Tintin. A word horny director once again tucking the tragedy of human life into a comic book. No, I will not be seeing this film. Maybe on a plane, but not in a theatre.
Wes Anderson's The Grand Budapest Hotel was among an armful of recent purchases that have made their way into my hut. I watched it last night and, as per usual, took old school screen grabs of whatever I felt moved to write about.
Is there any point in describing the plot of this lightning quick, portrait-centric film? Okay, in a sentence: A celebrated hotel concierge from a tiny Balkan duchy travels to the capitol for the reading of a past lover's will, where he finds out (under protest by her family) that she bequeathed to him a "priceless" painting, which he takes off its wall and, during his return trip, is arrested for her murder, jailed, only to escape with the help of Zero, his lobby boy protege, and his concierge colleagues at other hotels, and returns to the Grand Budapest, where, after a gun fight, he is exonerated and, at a reading of the will's codicil, finds himself in possession of everything.
The grab up top was taken during the concierge's trip to the capitol. Soldiers have stopped the train and are asking passengers for their papers. What I saw in this shot is what is framed in the window of the concierge's compartment: not a gathering of soldiers, but a drawing by another quirkmeister, the artist Marcel Dzama.
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