The Grand Budapest Hotel

There are some filmmakers so exceptionally talented in putting a movie together that each project they complete is met with a great deal of reverent anticipation and attention which cannot be overeffusive, because these artists are simply that good at what they do. Wes Anderson’s Grand Budapest Hotel is one of these events, utterly extraordinary in its creation - the incredibly beautiful and detailed visual design, terrific editing, perfectly nuanced music, with his usual cast and their uniquely crafted characters…

So why was I bored off my ass?

Literally. Off my ass. I tried watching it sitting up and had to lie down. It tired me out just trying to maintain attention.

Okay, so a certain medical condition might have (does, did) contribute to that exhaustion, but still...I love movies, and this one is so amazingly executed, it should have absolutely fascinated me, in any posture or position. It didn’t. Why not?

Because Wes Anderson has failed to entertain me for quite a while now. Several films in a row. The last one I felt something for, and still do, is The Royal Tenenbaums. And I don’t have to ask why, because I know why: it was about its characters. No reveling in silliness and style for the sake of them, but a good solid look at who these people are and how they relate to each other. It’s smart, funny, thoughtful, moving...he hasn’t done that since. Maybe a few interesting moments here and there, but nothing he’s brought forth - Life Aquatic, Darjeeling, Fox, Moonrise - has reached those heights of dramatic integrity. They’ve all been rather dull, in my experience, while still achieving that admirable level of artistic presentation.

It all comes down to story. What’s it really all about? With Tenenbaums, it’s about the Tenenbaums. People. Personalities. There’s interest there, human interest.

Grand Budapest Hotel is about...well, I don’t know. It isn’t even about the hotel; most of the scenes take place elsewhere. It certainly isn’t about the people in the hotel. It spends the first ten minutes with one person saying how he’s going to tell a story about himself being told a story by a guy who’s telling someone else’s story...ten minutes of “Hey, listen to this.” Not very interesting.

As for everything else that happens, there’s a kind of jaunty fun to it all, sure, but it’s meaningless. It isn’t about anything, there’s no human condition, it’s just activity. No heart.

And who can love art without heart?