The Grand Budapest Hotel

Wes Anderson is a film-maker who has ruffled more feathers of film critics than can be counted as a positive idea, except where Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009) is concerned, but with The Grand Budapest Hotel, all of this changes. He has somehow
managed to weave magic into the frame of every shot, and the effect is
enchanting, to say the least. 

His world is mad, at the hotel, and it all starts
with a womanizing concierge, Monsieur Gustave (Ralph Fiennes). Smart,
intelligent, when you are introduced to him he spends most of his time speaking
in a quick-witted manner, and bedding rich old women, who come to spend their
precious dimes on holidays in the starlight, powder-pink hotel. 

The naughty
theme, matches the undercurrent naughty dialogues, but this frivolous fun soon
sours, when one of his conquests – an 84 year old countess Madame D. (Tilda
Swinton) dies and a fight ensues, with respect to her will, because the feisty
Monsieur is actually now going to be in possession of a very expensive
painting. 

The Second World War is right at the brink, when the Monsieur, and a
confidante, the Lobby Boy (Tony Revolori) set off on a run to acquire the
riches that is rightfully his. When on the run, Monsieur Gustave comes
face-to-face with clear, real and present danger, from a host of characters,
such as a fascist ringleader (Adrien Brody) and a thug, that looks a bit like a
very, very cold Frankenstein (Willem Dafoe).

Film rating: 10/10.

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