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 (111921)
Like many of the other films by writer/director Wes Anderson (it has the most in
common with The Royal Tenenbaums), The French Dispatch contains many familiar
faces from his other films (such as Bill Murray, Owen Wilson, Frances McDormand,
Ed Norton, Tilda Swinton, and Adrien Brody), as well as his customary eccentric
characters, absurd situations, stunningly attractive set designs, symmetrical
shot compositions, and amusing social observations.
It has gotten long past the point that Anderson’s films have become a genre unto
themselves (like Woody Allen’s films used to be). Every year I look forward to
seeing a new one.
His impact on cinema/popular culture and is undeniable. I once saw an excellent
art exhibit in Pilsen, and all of the art pieces featured goofy characters from
Wes’s films. Also, South Park devoted a whole segment to parodying his style
(they did the same thing with Michael Bay and Quentin Tarantino.)
The French Dispatch is a clever and visually arresting anthology film which
movingly laments the death of a particular feature magazine and perhaps
magazines in general. The magazine that the story revolves around with its
sophisticated image and dry humor cover cartoons was undoubtedly inspired by the
New Yorker.
But unlike The New Yorker, The French Dispatch is located in France. It is based
in the made-up town of Ennui-sur-Blasé, where young Howitzer was planning a
temporary vacation there but ended up staying forever in order to transform the
Sunday supplement of a newspaper into a literate and prize-winning regular
collection of travel stories
The movie starts out with the premise that Arthur Howitzer, Jr., a respected
magazine editor who is dying, (perfectly played by Bill Murray) wants to put out
one last issue which reprints three of the best stories.
Each vignette in the film depicts a magazine story narrated by its writer. Not
every story is equally good, but the segment involving a prison artist might be
the best half hour of film I have seen all year.
The vignette is narrated by esteemed art critic/historian J. K. L. Berensen (Tilda
Swinton). She talks about how she met Moses Rosenthaler (Benicio Del Toro), a
psychologically unhinged man who becomes a world-famous artist while
incarcerated for murder for life in a high-security prison in Ennui. Moses falls
madly in love with the enigmatic but sexy prison guard, Simone (Léa Seydoux from
Blue is the Warmest Color), and it is easy to see why.
Simone is an unusually quirky muse and person. She happily poses for Moses and
encourages him in his painting (His abstract Jackson Pollack like paintings look
nothing like her). Although she is soft spoken and quiet, she sometimes bosses
him around as if she is a dominatrix and he is a slave. Although she proclaims
she does not love him, they definitely have a strong emotional bond, and she
always encourages him in his efforts and wants the best for him.
Moses also greatly benefits from his business relationship with his art dealer
named Julien Cadazio (Adrien Brody), who is also in jail (he was convicted of
tax fraud). Julien has booked a big show for Moses without his permission, but
the big question is can this unpredictable and mentally unbalanced man deliver?
Another vignette concerns a left-wing student uprising and even though it takes
place in France some of the characters involved reminded me of the Chicago 7 or
Students for a Democratic Society.
A political correspondent, Lucinda Krementz (Frances McDormand) reports on a
student revolt in Ennui, which seems modeled at least somewhat on some of the
events in Paris in May 1968. Some of the real riots became violent and resulted
in the destruction of property, including chairs and desks being thrown out of
windows.
The Tom Hayden like Zeffirelli B. (Timothée Chalamet who is also currently
featured in Dune), is a radical left student leader with a Dylan haircut who
demands that young men be given their God given right (I am being ironic here)
to be allowed into women’s dormitories.
In a crazy scene, Krementz, who dines with Zeffirelli’s parents, (obviously
people with privilege) finds him in the bathtub writing a manifesto while the
police are breaking up demonstrations with tear gas. The film does an excellent
job of capturing that anything can happen from moment-to-moment spontaneity and
chaos of the 60s.
She helps him out with the manifesto, and they become lovers, but their
relationship sparks conflict with some of the other members of the political
group who see her as a divisive bourgeoisie threat to group cohesion. This also
ruffles the feathers of Zeffirelli’s much younger and extremely radical younger
girlfriend who is in many ways Krementz’s opposite (played by Lyna Khoudri who
reminded me of one of the rebellious heroines Ana Karina played).
The film has nearly as many allusions to classic films as a Tarantino movie. The
vignette’s themes and content are reminiscent of French new wave films like
Godard’s La Chinoise. In one scene the writer and her lover are having an
intellectual discussion with their heads positioned in opposite directions
perfectly balancing the shot echoing one of the most famous scenes in Bergman’s
Persona.
The third and, in my opinion, the weakest of the features is the last one. It is
narrated by Roebuck Wright (Jeffrey Wright), who is a gay black American author
who lives in exile in Ennui. He has a passing resemblance to James Baldwin who
also lived in France in real life (this is the basis for his novel, Sonny’s
Blues (which I have taught.)
Wright has become a food writer, and his report revolves around Lieutenant
Nescaffier (Steve Park), the greatest chef of police cuisine, he prepares a
special meal for a police chief which is meant to make him into a sensation, but
the whole things turn sour when the chief’s young son, Gigi (Wines Ait Hellal)
is kidnapped at the event by a gang.
The French Dispatch has some of the most amazing costumes and décor of the year
and it never stops experimenting visually (of course not everything works).
Anderson tells the stories using almost every imaginable form and or technique
including split screens, live action, animation, flashbacks, and even fast
forwards. Except for maybe Tim Burton or Giuseppe Del Toro no one in cinema has
delivered so may consistently visually intoxicating films, at least in terms of
art direction. Sometimes it seems like Anderson is throwing everything he has in
his arsenal against a wall but amazingly most of it sticks.
The film is framed by an opening sequence announcing the last stories and the
physical end of the magazine which is seen in the movie’s conclusion. The film
left me with feeling similar to how I felt at the end of Citizen Kane as if I
was witnessing the end of something important or a great era.
Some critics have called this film Anderson’s best, and while the film contains
some great sequences, like many anthologies (except for maybe Dead of Night) it
is slightly uneven. It is also possible that there was simply too much going on
for me to absorb in one sitting. The film, like many of Wes Anderson’s features
(this holds true of Paul Thomas Anderson’s work as well) would benefit from
multiple viewings.
But while this film is not as solid or consistent as such instant Anderson
classics as Moonrise Kingdom, The Grand Budapest Hotel, Rushmore, and The Royal
Tenenbaums, the release of any Wes Anderson film should be celebrated and
rewarded with customer patronage. He is one of a kind maverick who rarely
disappoints.
The film is also a great argument (which is especially needed in this era with
people reading less periodicals both on and offline), that magazine writing and
reading are two of life’s great pleasures and one of the best ways to make sense
of the world.
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