In 1998 I caught “Rushmore” at the New York Film Festival and enjoyed the q and a afterwards, it made me a Wes Anderson fan but not always and for every “The Royal Tenenbaums” there was a “The Life Aquatic” waiting. “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is the latter, a highly stylized, very attractive movie that promises to be a smart look at the history of the hotel through the decades with a fascinating parade of movie stars in cameos tracing the beautiful edifice to time and money. And instead we get a madcap caper movie with illusions of grandeur.
Remember The Overlook Hotel? Remember what Stanley Kubrick did for it? Anderson doesn’t come within in a million miles, he doesn’t lay it out, he doesn’t take us around, it is as if he forgets who is the star of his movie, who it is named after. Ralph Fiennes is concierge Gustave H, Tony Revolori is head bellboy Zero Moustafa, Gustave’s forte is seducing elderly rich women for love and money but when a Countess dies under mysterious circumstances leaving a priceless painting to Gustave, he is framed for her murder. With every one from William Defoe to Bill Murray to Edward Norton around for the right, Anderson takes you on a sprint to the edge of WWII.
Madcap and frantic constantly, a movie without a breather or a moment of realness, it is wearying without being very much fun and while certainly talented enough, it is a lot of effort for not too many rewards. Spend your summer vacation at the Overlook instead.
Grade: C
