THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL Review

Wes Anderson's "The Grand Budapest Hotel" is a delightful farce, a wonderful romp and a screwball caper. It's fanciful and funny, but it's also perhaps Wes Anderson out-Wes Anderson-ing himself. I haven't seen everything out of the writer/director's canon, but I think I've seen enough, from his very best ("The Royal Tenenbaums," "Fantastic Mr. Fox," "Moonrise Kingdom") to his lesser efforts ("The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou"). It's certainly safe to say since 2009's animated entry, he has solidified, even more than before, a stylistic signature. With "Grand Budapest," the film comes standard with all the tropes we recognize with characters and cameras only moving at right angles, framed in pretty little boxes, with swiveling, pivoting cameras and swooping zooms, tiny miniatures and a cast of familiar faces (Owen Wilson, Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman). The filmmaker is who he is, and with this latest outing his style has been refined to pinpoint precision.

Set in a fictional European town in between the world wars, the story is told through the visit of a young writer (Jude Law) to the now rather decrepit Grand Budapest, long past its glory days in the 1930s. He meets a man named Zero (F. Murray Abraham) who recalls his extraordinary tale of when he was a young lobby boy (played by newcomer Tony Revolori) under the wing of head concierge Monsieur Gustave H (Ralph Fiennes). Fiennes excels in the role with rapid-fire poetics and dialogue, an operatic man who acts as if all the wrongs in the world can be righted with proper manners. Etiquette, above all, defines his charmed era, which he refuses to believe is soon coming to an end, with darker times on the horizon.

When we switch from the older Zero recalling his tale to back in the day, the film switches from widescreen to a 4:3 aspect ratio, and cinematographer Robert Yeoman uses both to great effect; most recognizably the latter as every shot is squared off and perfectly symmetrical. And it's all set to a bouncy, delectable score from mainstay Alexandre Desplat. The winding tale springboards from the death of the 84-year-old Madame D (a hilariously elderly Tilda Swinton), one of the many female residents of the hotel Gustave had relations with. At the reading of her last will and testament by Deputy Kovacs (Jeff Goldblum), it's discovered that the Madame left her most prized possession, a Renaissance painting called "Boy with Apple," to not her ruthless son Dmitri (Adrian Brody), but instead Gustave. This puts Dmitri in a fit of rage, along with his dastardly henchman Jopling (Willem Dafoe), a man so cruel he'd even throw a cat out the window.

Gustave and Zero steal the painting, which launches an extravagant manhunt led by an Inspector played by Edward Norton, not dissimilar to the Scout Master he played in "Moonrise Kingdom." Zero at the same time is falling for his true love, the sweet bakery girl Agatha (Saoirse Ronan) whose Mendl pastries come into smart play. It all gets a bit nuts and slapstick, but the production design pops, and the characters lay into the humor and fluffiness of it all. The absurdity reaches its peak during a prisonbreak that looks straight out of an old cartoon, led by a bald, tattooed Harvey Keitel. While for a second you might think there's no real depth of feeling, the darkness lurking beneath the candy-colored confection, like a sweet pastry from Mendl's, rears its head.

"The Grand Budapest Hotel" is like a wind-up dollhouse with so many trinkets and moving parts, it's a marvelous contraption. But with spurts of coarse language, shocking violence and the impending gloom of war, there's an important line from older Zero recalling his hero, Gustave: "He was a glimmer of civilization in the barbaric slaughterhouse we know as humanity."

MOONRISE KINGDOM Review

It's the summer of 1965 on the small, sleepy island of New Penzance off the coast of New England in Wes Anderson's return to live action after his "Fantastic Mr. Fox." The film opens on a quaint lighthouse home, and we're given a tour as a camera moves around laterally perfectly framing different rooms and introducing us to the Bishop family. And with this is a boy narrating the parts of an orchestral piece announcing the addition of each new instrument. In a sense, Anderson's latest feature plays in this style of a building symphony. More parts and flourishes get added and added until it crescendos to a grand and beautifully tumultuous finale. That's without even mentioning Alexandre Desplat's score which, in its own right, mirrors the symphony theme wonderfully.

The story centers around a blossoming young love between two precocious 12-year-olds. Sam Shakusky (Jared Gilman) is a nerdy orphan scout, and Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward), is the troubled daughter of her family who's otherwise occupied with three younger boys. Her parents, played with effortless deadpan nuance by Frances McDormand and Bill Murray, are distracted with their own marital malaise. It's one morning when Scout Master Ward (Edward Norton) finds Sam's tent empty and discovers from a written note the boy has ran away. And when the local cop, Captain Sharp (Bruce Willis), gets involved in the disappearance, the Bishops realize their daughter has run away with the boy.

The children are no-nonsense about their plan. They look each other squarely in the eyes without blinking and tell each other how they feel, how dedicated they are to the other -- Suzy with her heavy, blue eye shadow and Sam behind his black, thick-rimmed glasses. Running away from home in such a small setting is absurd, especially considering it's an island. But the fanciful nature of their journey is the idea behind it, the dreams it holds for these displaced children. Meanwhile they're being relentlessly pursued by adults, notably Social Services -- not the organization, but one severe-looking woman played by Tilda Swinton.

Expertly shot by longtime collaborator Robert Yeoman, he knows Anderson's classic style inside and out. The movie is shot straight-on with each scene meticulously propped and detailed as to look like a vintage still photograph. The miniature look to each setting, as well, is reminiscent of Mr. Fox's underground animal dwelling. And no Anderson film would be complete without the appearance of Jason Schwartzman, although both Wilson brothers are conspicuously absent.

Some people may find it irritating that this is very much a Wes Anderson film. I used to be one of those people. "Moonrise Kingdom," however, contains a newfound emotional undercurrent. In evolving and perfecting his technical mastery, he's infusing it with new elements creating a deft and rich blend of humanism and surrealism. Among all the magic and whimsy, there's a sorrowful look at childhood, the spirit and hopefulness of youth, the adventurous spirit and the ever-present potential for it to get lost in passing time and age.

EIFF Premiere: "Get Low" (2010)

There is a 1930s American folk tale about a reclusive old man named Felix Bush (Robert Duvall) who is feared by most people in town. There are legends surrounding him about the terrible deeds he has done and the men he has killed with his own bare hands. Felix arrives into town to begin planning for his funeral service, an event that all the townspeople are invited to attend. The catch is that it's a funeral party, and Felix will be there in attendance not dead but alive.

Aaron Schneider's "Get Low" is inspired by this tale, and the film does an excellent job of conveying the mood and feel of the old South. Set in rural 1930s Tennessee, the cinematography from David Boyd is frequently beautiful to look at. This is Schneider's feature-length directorial debut as he won an Oscar for his short film, "Two Soldiers," and he proves to have a keen sense of balance and timing. He is confident at telling this seemingly slight story that turns out to be emotionally involving and satisfying. With sly humor and quieter more intimate moments in equal value, Schneider and his writers strike a pleasantly restrained chord in this old legend and set the showcase for some compelling characters.

Upon hearing that Felix had come into town looking for a funeral, Buddy (Lucas Black), a young employee at Quinn's Funeral Home, heads out to Felix's lone cabin in the woods with his boss, Frank Quinn (Bill Murray). They quickly strike up a deal even with the odd request of throwing a party as Frank's eyes light up at the sound of a big payout because his funeral home business is failing. "What do you do when people won't die?" he asks. Frank and Buddy soon find out the type of man, and consequently man of legend, they're dealing with. Felix gets brought onto a radio show, and there he offers folks raffle tickets with his valuable property as the prize working as incentive to get people to show up. He knows people have stories to tell about him, and he wants to hear them all.

A soft-spoken widowed woman, Mattie (Sissy Spacek), comes back into town and is curious to hear that Felix is showing himself after so long. "There's nobody like him," she says. The scenes between Mattie and Felix are the movie's most heartfelt and sentimental as they mull over the ideas of loss, death and forgiveness. "The list of people going gets longer and longer," Mattie says. "I'm waiting for my name to be called." Turns out that Felix doesn't so much want to hear other stories at his funeral than he does want to tell his own. He's been carrying a burden of guilt for the past 40 years. Even an old friend of Felix's, Rev. Charlie Jackson (Bill Cobbs), is reluctant to speak for him at the funeral.

And I've yet to even mention Robert Duvall's astonishing, finely nuanced and downright Oscar-caliber performance as Felix Bush. He is a superb actor, and his work here is both humorous and sorrowful. Playing a cranky hermit could easily have led to a caricature, but Duvall sidesteps that and molds a fully-fledged man who may have a few screws loose but is also affectionate. Duvall is backed with an equally fine supporting cast. Spacek is sweet and lovely, Lucas Black is effective, Bill Cobbs is wise and solemn, and, most of all, Bill Murray is hilarious with all of his gestures, glances and snappy jokes.

Once the build-up of anticipation for Felix's funeral party is released, "Get Low" hits its stride. Duvall's delivery of Felix's confession will have you wiping your eyes dry, the signal of a masterful performance and ranking among the most powerful and memorable moments I've seen on-screen so far this year.