Lisa Newey
Perched like an ornamental cake decoration atop a fir-covered mountain, The Grand Budapest Hotel was once an elegant and grand destination for the European hoi-polloi in the late 60s. Its attractions have faded, but for a young author (Jude Law), its beauty is brought to life again when he meets Mr Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham), the reclusive owner of the hotel, who over a sumptuous dinner tells him the tale of how he came into possession of this faded jewel.
Director Wes Anderson, a dab hand at eccentric characters, has gone all out in this madcap yet genteel caper, inspired by the writings of Austrian author Stefan Zwieg, which paints a picture of a continent on the brink of war and its impact on the rich and those who serve them. Monsieur Gustave H (Ralph Fiennes, in rarely-seen comedic mode) is the epitome of a world class concierge – discreet, clever and always able to accommodate his clients’ needs, sometimes proving to be more than “accommodating”. Taking a new lobby boy (Tony Revolori as Zero) under his wing, M. Gustave’s primary lesson is that manners and kindness can achieve much. When the two quickly find themselves embroiled in a scandal over a dead widow (Tilda Swinton) and her estate, this lesson proves to be a very useful one as they try to stay one step ahead of an increasingly precarious situation.
Featuring a seemingly endless cast of stars (Willem Dafoe, Adrien Brody, Edward Norton, Saiorse Ronan, the ubiquitous Bill Murray and Owen Wilson– stalwarts of Anderson’s films, Harvey Keitel and Jeff Goldblum, amongst others), and shot on location in wintery Germany, Anderson’s highlighting of both the tension of imminent war and the wistful sadness for a bygone era is beautifully matched with his unique sense of deadpan and unconventional comedy. The Grand Budapest Hotel is 100 minutes of heaven. Don’t miss it!
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