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The mess and muddle of violence might not seem like appropriate subject matter for Wes Anderson's films, given their precise demarcations of space and color, deliberate dollhouse-like spatial compositions, and spring-loaded narratives; such disorder often seems like the last thing these painstakingly constructed universes should permit. But the specter is always there, the wolf at the door in movies concerned with people's capacity to harm one another.

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That damage is generally manifested verbally (via neglect, haughtiness, and offhand cruelty), but there are times when it explodes into battles and brawls that allow a bit of cathartic breathing room from the oppressive stylization of Anderson's work. Posed as an affront to these neatly ordered worlds, it's in these moments that his houses of cards, if they don't exactly collapse, at least shudder a bit, hinting at the darkness lurking outside all of their fussy formalism.Set primarily during a stormy interwar period beset by the looming clouds of fascism, The Grand Budapest Hotel is Anderson's most violent film yet. It's also his most characteristic, which means much, much more of everything you'd expect: fey, fragile characters spouting stylized dialogue; stories within stories within stories; elaborate uniforms; color schemes that vary between thrift-store shabbiness and sweet-shop luster (orange sherbet in one scenario, rose-pink fondant in another).

After two brief preludes, the second featuring a writer (played first by Tom Wilkinson, then by Jude Law in a '60s-set flashback) describing his experience with the titular hotel, the story sinks into its lush early-'30s setting, the froofy old-word decadence among which M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes), a master concierge, beds rich old ladies while managing the hotel with military-like meticulousness. This perfectly calibrated timepiece is eventually disturbed by a murder, a perfunctory plot point that allows Anderson to spin out the action into new realms and take-offs, from a prison break which merges Bresson with Mouse Trap, to a bobsled chase that pushes our heroes through a ridiculous battery of Winter Olympics-style events.All this occurs across the snow-capped peaks and verdant valleys of Zubrowka, a fictional country anchored by the Grand Budapest, an immense mountain hideaway accessible only by cable car.

The concept of creating an entire kingdom for his tics and fasciations to play out in lockstep rhythm is treated with appropriate levity by Anderson, who repeatedly parodies how low the stakes are in this realm of color-coded dominoes, staging a lengthy heart to heart while escape alarms sound, a moment of silence in the face of a hail of bullets, with repeated establishing shots of what look like the world's most detailed cardboard dioramas. But even these jokes have a purpose.(Download The Grand Budapest Hotel) Zubrowka is a snow-globe simulacrum defined by its fakeness and fragility. The tenuous relationship between several brittle bubble worlds is an especially fraught topic when joined up to the days preceding WWII, perhaps the ultimate moment of tidal destruction, and unlike the recent The Monuments Men, which Grand Budapest Hotel outclasses in nearly every way, the film cleanly integrates both cuteness and horror into the same uneasy space.It's fitting that a recurring piece of pastry plays a role in the story, since Anderson seems to be daring us to view his work as mere confection, while offering subtle evidence that there's more at play.

This all comes back to those violent intrusions, which have long been present in the director's work, emblematic moments that detail traumas without otherwise breaking stride. But it's useful to compare Margot Tenenbaum's delicately lopped-off ring finger (itself a concise image of romantic impossibility)(Download The Grand Budapest Hotel) with the set of four digits lost here, posed like Vienna sausages in the snow before being scooped up by a character who's basically evil incarnate.So while the violence may still be delicately staged (an early conflict with imperial soldiers yields mirrored scuffles and matching nosebleeds for Gustave and his assistant Zero, played by Tony Revolori), there's a much deeper sense of darkness behind it than usual. It's telling how that scuffle eventually ties up, with another reflecting scenario near the end of the film, one that defies Gustave's imagined substructure of polite, clear-headed men preventing a total descent into madness.

Inspired by the writings of Stefan Zweig, Grand Budapest Hotel also has the morbid dreaminess of a Grimm fairy tale: quaint and picturesque, but reflecting real-world anxieties which necessitate the softening fictionalization of such fears.As always, Anderson places his trademark precision in direct confrontation with the chaos and confusion menacing his beloved characters.(Download The Grand Budapest Hotel) Embraced by both the director and his concierge protagonist, this sort of fastidiousness plays as a defense mechanism, the summation of a film concerned with waging quixotic conflict against the inexorable flow of time. Grand Budapest Hotel presents a whole network of people trying vainly to capture the ghosts of the past, communicating a telescoped nostalgia for worlds vanished before one was able to experience them. The sum effect is one of great sadness, but the formal precision also doubles as a form of optimism, facilitating the creation of clockwork realities which, if not approaching or precluding our own, can at least, in the words of one character here, "sustain the illusion with marvelous grace."

Wes Anderson’s films often dwell on worlds within worlds: grand houses, fox dens, submarines. So it seems appropriate that he should turn his delicate gaze to a hotel: the ultimate embodiment of secret worlds in public spaces. Inspired by the writings of Stefan Zweig, the story unfolds like a Russian doll,(Download The Grand Budapest Hotel) told in the first instance by an author (Law), interviewing Zero Mustafa, a one-time lobby boy and now proprietor of the crumbling titular establishment.Ralph Fiennes’ Gustave H was the previous owner, whose inheritance of a priceless painting sets the shaggy dog story in motion. More surprising is the subject matter: behind the predictably whimsical yarn of a hotel concierge on the run lies a darker tale of pre-war Europe, a land of intrigue, disease, love and bubbling violence. Tilda Swinton makes a brief appearance as wealthy dowager Madame D., the name perhaps a nod to Max Ophüls’ The Earrings of Madame de..., a similarly stately and moving story of a world of finery on the edge of extinction.

The title alone of Wes Anderson’s eighth feature film is a declaration of intent: his fabulous Eastern European hostelry is not merely Good or even Great but Grand, a reflection not only of its clientele but of the director’s ever-more-rarefied aesthetic. Co-written by artist Hugo Guinness, whose résumé — leather goods designer, footwear model, husband of fellow artist Elliott Puckette — gives the distinct impression that one of Anderson’s quaint and curious characters has actually been willed into life,(Download The Grand Budapest Hotel) The Grand Budapest Hotel continues the director’s upward curve after The Darjeeling Limited, a fun but slight project that suggested he was dangerously close to running out of creative steam.With Fantastic Mr. Fox, however, Anderson revealed a surprising new momentum. Although it was literally his most handcrafted film to date, enabling him to control practically every aspect from performance to landscape to weather, it was actually one of his most soulful. Nominally a kids’ film, it turned out to be perhaps the most sophisticated adult project of them all, reiterating some of the neurotic, dysfunctional family content of his earlier, more deadpan and sombre films, in a much more broadly funny and subversive way.

Like Mr. Fox, Grand Budapest Hotel is another film with a heavy emphasis on production design. But where Anderson usually invests in interiors — think Darjeeling with its crazy Bollywood train; The Life Aquatic with its exploded diagram of a submarine set; Moonrise Kingdom with the maze-like Bishop household — this one ventures into the great outdoors and, for the first time, attempts to production-design the landscape. Trading the three-dimensional Czech animation of Mr. Fox for the two-dimensional snip-and-paste of early French cinema,(Download The Grand Budapest Hotel) it offers a little Méliès-style magic in its cut-out vistas, little paper funiculars trundling up hillsides and elevators wobbling up and down.Taking its cue from another movie reference, the Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup, with its fictional setting of Freedonia, Anderson’s film takes place in its own world — the Republic of Zubrowka, where the currency is the ‘klübeck’.Pushing the conceit further, there are even two Grand Budapest Hotels: the ornate, pastel-coloured Xanadu of the early 20th century and the pragmatic, no-frills shadow of itself that it has become in the Cold War ’60s.

We see the latter first, as the film’s narrating Author travels there, in flashback, as a young man and meets the hotel’s reclusive owner, Mr. Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham). In this incarnation, the Grand Budapest Hotel is a hushed and eerily calm place of Soviet intrigue, a place straight out of The Lives Of Others that reeks of secret services, police informants and hidden microphones.(Download The Grand Budapest Hotel) There are also two framing devices: the Author as he is today (Tom Wilkinson, staring dolefully straight into the camera, in the manner of a public service commercial) and as he was in the late ’60s (Jude Law), a somewhat more chipper and adventurous personality. In theory, there is next to no reason at all for this, but it certainly suits the shaggy-dog nature of this bizarre tale, creating a Russian-doll structure that will eventually reveal the film’s true hero, the adorable M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes). The doubling up of memories within memories — effectively the Author’s recollections of Mr. Moustafa’s memoir — is a smart device to allow Anderson to play with exaggeration and contradiction.

Filtered not only through the eyes of the young, impressionable Moustafa but also the creative memory of Wilkinson/Law’s Author, M. Gustave is both a lotus eater and a buffoon, a serial womaniser whose sleazy penchant for rich old widows is at odds with his debonair image.It is one such dalliance with the lizard-like Madame D. (Tilda Swinton) that leads to the film’s key storyline and takes us back to the Grand Budapest Hotel’s opulent heyday, perched on a Zubrowkan mountainside like a huge,(Download The Grand Budapest Hotel) candy-coloured wedding cake. The rakish, indefatigable M. Gustave is in his element here, and Anderson’s peripatetic camera — always travelling in straight lines, forwards and backwards — has great fun keeping up with him as he circles and swoops, flattering the wrinkled flesh of his prized, ageing courtesans, at once twinkly-eyed maestro and gigolo, both seedy and magnificent.And for once in a Wes Anderson there is even a MacGuffin: upon her death, Madame D. bequeaths M. Gustave the rare Renaissance painting Boy With Apple by Johannes van Hoytle The Younger, much to the disdain of the dead woman’s son, Dmitri (Adrien Brody).

The painting — who’s got it and who wants it — is really the fulcrum that Anderson’s film balances on, leading to a rich and characterful farce that brings to mind the early Pink Panther movies. Indeed, there’s even a tinge of Peter Sellers about Fiennes’ performance, echoing not just Clouseau’s bumbling,(Download The Grand Budapest Hotel) good-hearted innocence but the late actor’s elegant way with words — there is a playful, po-faced absurdity to the language that perfectly complements the physical clowning that dominates the last act.But as ever with a Wes Anderson movie, this not entirely Fiennes’ show, since, yet again, there are cameos from his ever-growing repertory company that crop up in the most unlikely places. From way, way back — Bottle Rocket and Rushmore — we have Owen Wilson, Bill Murray and Jason Schwartzman; from more recent times — The Life Aquatic and Moonrise Kingdom — we have Willem Dafoe, Harvey Keitel and Edward Norton.

These could be jarring, but Anderson uses their faces wisely, notably Keitel as Ludwig, a CG-bald, sage prison con; Dafoe as Jopling, the brass-knuckled henchman working for Dmitri to locate the missing painting; and Norton as the ‘good’ fascist Inspector Henckels, who proves to be M. Gustave’s guardian angel when the stormclouds of war gather.Such details will be mostly appreciated by Anderson’s more faithful followers, since The Grand Budapest Hotel is stylised to such a degree that many will quickly tire of its archness, its relentless fussiness and its formally stiff body language (just look at the way Léa Seydoux’s hilarious,(Download The Grand Budapest Hotel) uptight maid Clotilde hands M. Gustave a package). But for those willing to enter Anderson’s strange and marvellous world, there is plenty to enjoy: the dialogue is richer than usual, with particular relish for the baroque world of M. Gustave, a consumer of ornate artisan pastries who swans about in smoking jackets, liberally dousing himself with L’Air De Panache from a crystal-glass atomiser.

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And while it seems to border on tastelessness when the spectre of fascism darkens Anderson’s own bespoke vision of La Belle Époque, Fiennes summons up the humanity to bring an unexpected air of melancholy to the screen.(Watch The Grand Budapest Hotel Online With best screen) It helps here that Anderson has dropped his trademark use of wayward pop and rock music, working with Alexandre Desplat’s orchestral score — and the occasional burst of traditional Russian folk — to add a suitable sense of gravitas.Whether it works or not is definitely in the eye of the beholder, and The Grand Budapest Hotel will be as divisive — with the exception of Fantastic Mr. Fox — as all the others. But for those willing to check in without prejudice, this may well be among Anderson’s better films, one of the few that repay repeated viewings.

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