Auteur Wes Anderson has this peculiar talent for taking our senses on an esoteric vacation. Even before the sun sets on his “Moonrise Kingdom”, he takes us to Europe between the Wars and opens a farcical window to deep-seated human emotions by arranging an eventful stay in the fictional Grand Budapest Hotel.
Like the ornate hotel is perched on the edge of a postcard-like mountain, Anderson keeps us on the brink as the undercurrents of pain and panic come alive through light-hearted moments nestled between several narratives. As a flashback within flashback device comes into play, an aging writer (Jude Law) is reflecting on his younger days when he once stayed in a reputed hotel which was on the decline. During his stay, he met the aging owner (F. Murray Abraham) who narrated to him the story of his rise from a lobby boy (Tony Revolori) and the travails of his mentor Gustave (Ralph Fiennes).
As the layers peel away and curiosity takes over, we get to know about the times when Hotel Budapest was at its peak and concierge Gustave was its master. Gustave has a way with words and the aging clients. His sexual preferences are under a cloud and his services go beyond making the bed, but his commitment to hospitality is impeccable.
However, when one of his patrons, Madame D (Tilda Swinton), dies in mysterious circumstances after bequeathing a rare painting to him, Gustave’s life changes for the worse.
As the spurned heir (Adrien Brody) tries to eliminate him, Anderson unravels a series of intriguing subplots which not only fill the screenplay with a contrast of slapstick and sublime emotions but also puts the theme in a socio-political context. For example, the lobby boy is called Zero for a reason. His love story with a feisty young girl with a map-like scar on her face leaves you probing for more. Gustave’s yearning for perfume in life threatening situations is a comment on people in positions of privilege.
Anderson doesn’t let the metaphors dictate the mood. His designer mise-en-scene reminds one of a Venn diagram in terms of framing and colour schemes. There is a mathematical symmetry in his vision of the world that he explores. As he paints Stefan Zewig’s stories on celluloid, he brings out the ephemerality of the emotions. At times, it seems you are watching the film through a bioscope, at others you feel you are being cheated by the sleight of hand of a master puppeteer. And unlike Hollywood sepia toned extravaganzas, Anderson doesn’t look at the past from the pedestal of the present.
Does it add up to something substantial? Not quite. But the delightful moments make the heart pound and ache in equal measure as Anderson’s whimsical ways find an accessible shape here. Fiennes has not treaded this comical space before and he is a sheer delight to watch as he explores a strange combination of vanity and simplicity interspersed with compulsive swearing and sexual swings. Tony provides solid support as his acolyte and Anderson has filled the landscape with his trusted accomplices. If the quirky Gustave stands for humility and compassion in the hospitality business, the film underlines the return of elegant, unpretentious storytelling. Both are in short supply these days and that’s what makes The Grand Budapest Hotel worth visiting.
