Film is often compared to dreams, after all Hollywood us called the "dream factory", leading us into strange lands that often only exist as long as the lights are low and the projector is running. So it is only fitting that the world's largest film festival would open with an elaborate and visually overwhelming dream. Such is Wes Anderson's The Grand Budapest Hotel, telling the story of Zero, a lobby boy at a luxury hotel in a pre-war fantasy state who is mentored by the legendary concierge Monsieur Gustave and plunges into an epic adventure with him. The film is a brightly colored tour de force, hilariously funny, a crazy comic book world full of strange and enchanting creatures. A passing, temporary world in which one can, for a short time, live or at least imagine a dream life. Like a hotel. The visuals are astounding, the story-telling, fast-paced, inventive, always surprising, the characters quirky, grotesque, lovable. The Grand Budapest Hotel is a gigantic and excessively sweet candy floss kind of a movie full of a stellar cast on the edge of quirkiness, a wildly entertaining ride that fully exploits film's ability to create fantasy worlds that still manage to lay bare hints of the world we know. For despite all the colorfulness, the film also tells the story of a world threatened by war and violence, a dream long turned into nightmare. The Grand Budapest Hotel has its redundancies (such as the present day framing story) but it is a beautiful homage to the past we have lost but are encouraged to re- create and create anew with the greatest gift we have: imagination. And ultimately, it is a tribute to that wonderful dream machine we call cinema filled with hints and associations for those who want to find them (down to such a detail as the aspect ratio) – albeit one that doesn't take itself too seriously. Which might be its most charming and enchanting quality.
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