Having been to a few of Wes Anderson's films, the twee, absurd caricature, dead-pan precious, lush, scenic, cardboard Tim Burton-esque cinematography that many insisted is synonymous with "intelligent humour" were all expected. What wasn't is the insufferable, sophomoric idiocy of the story, gratuitous characters and shallowness of the plot, the script, the character development, the entire purpose of the making of this film. What on earth is it suppose to say?! What deeper layers are there to uncover other than it being a madcap caper about promiscuous hotel staff carrying on with obscenely rich geriatrics, murderous villains and relatives, an outrageous and unbelievable jailbreak adventure? What is the point to this wedding cake indulgence of a film, exactly? And please don't sniff haughtily with a "You just don't get its brilliance/genius/subversion/provocation, blah..blah...blah...go watch a Tom Cruise flick!" retort. I honestly don't get much more from this film than its gruel thin plot.
Review of The Grand Budapest Hotel
