Director Report Card: Wes Anderson (2021)

10. The French Dispatch

In August of 2018, it was announced that Wes Anderson would be directing a musical, set in post-World War II France. The imagination immediately sparked at what such a project would look like. How a director as precise, as known for his perfectly choreographed imagery, would handle a movie full of singing and dancing. As more information about the film came out, we learned that “The French Dispatch” was not a musical. Instead, the film would tell a collection of stories. Described as “a love letter to journalists” and heavily inspired by Anderson’s love of the New Yorker, the film would wrap filming in 2019. It was yet another one of the high profile projects delayed by the COVID-19 pandemic, not being released until October of last year. By then, it felt a little easy to overlook the newest Wes Anderson film, though it still received considerable critical praise. 

The film is centered around the French Dispatch of the Liberty Kansas Evening Sun, the foreign bureau nestled in the small French town of Ennui-sur-Blasé. After the magazine’s editor dies suddenly, the staff scrambles to assemble the publication’s final issue. Three stories are presented: “The Concrete Masterpiece” concerns Moses Rosenthaler, an artist imprisoned for double homicide. After an art dealer discovers his work, Rosenthaler becomes a reluctant sensation. “Revisions to a Manifesto” follows a student uprising at a local college. Reporter Lucinda Krementz develops a brief romance with Zeffirelli, the self-styled leader of the rebellion. “The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner” has Roebuck Wright writing a food review of a meal prepared by the beloved police cook. During the meal, the commissioner’s son is kidnapped and Wright becomes entangled in the investigation. 

With each new Wes Anderson movie, the director’s images grow ever more precise. “The French Dispatch” looks even more like a series of illustrations that has sprung to life than his previous work. The elaborate sets are assembled around the actors, the buildings frequently deconstructing and moving around the cast. More than once, the walls are removed from structures so we can see the interior, like pages of a blueprint. The movement of the cast and the sets feels like an elaborate dance. The cinematography is similarly carefully choreographed, POV shots and whip pans putting exclamation points on multiple moments. Several sequences are paused like photographs, all the action in the frame stopping so the audience can soak up the details. To draw even more attention to the extremely specific visual design, the film often switches between color and black-and-white. The result is a film that is a constant visual spectacle, a complex wind-up machine where every gear and cog slides perfectly into place. 

This technique is certainly on display in the film’s framing device. A lengthy sequence introduces us to the magazine’s home town of Ennui-sur-Blasé. (Literally translated as “Apathy Bordering Dullness.”) Owen Wilson on a bicycle guides us on all the eccentricities and peculiarities of the town. It’s a pairing of information-packed dialogue, each one containing quirky observations, and stylized visuals that is almost overwhelming. The later framing sequences — filled with other Anderson regulars like Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman, Fisher Stevens, and well acquainted newcomers like Elizabeth Moss and Griffin Dunne — are far stiller and reserved seemingly as a deliberate contrast to this breathless introduction.

It’s not just visual complexity that Anderson is increasingly focused on. As in “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” “The French Dispatch” contains multiple narrative layers. This is essentially an anthology film, three stories contained within the larger premise of the magazine. Each one of these episodes contain their own framing devices. “The Concrete Masterpiece” cuts between the story of Rosenthaler in the prison with reporter J.K.L. Berensen telling the story of the artist at a museum exposition, some years later. “Revisions of a Manifesto” shows Krementz living her story and also after-the-fact, the entire history of the characters coming to life. Roebuck’s segment begins with him on a talk show in the seventies, using his photographic memory to read the article exactly as it was written. This multi-nested structure also allows for a number of digressions. Such as when we see that Krementz someday writes a play inspired by these events. Or when the interviewer pauses Roebuck, so that he can discuss another anecdote from his life. “The French Dispatch” is a swirling, fast-paced collection of stories, hidden within each other and built atop one another.

The first proper episode of the film is probably the best. In “The Concrete Masterpiece,” Anderson focuses on the archetype of the self-destructive artist. Moses’ explanation for why he brutally murdered two men is kept vague and impulsive. Inside the prison, his passion to create is fired by a love affair with Simone, the guard watching over him. His impulse to create art is directly tied to his loins, to his fiery affair with the often frustratingly distant Simone. Yet this need to express himself in paint and plaster is paired with a self-destructive streak. He straps himself into an electric chair and threatens suicide at one point. He takes years to finish his masterpiece, greatly angering his art dealer, and still demands more time. The eventual reveal of the masterpiece is shown to be frustratingly immovable. The artist’s (in its own way sexual) need to create is linked totally to a similarly strong need to destroy, whether that be life or his own success. “The Concrete Masterpiece,” in its on particular way, shows the process of the Eros and Thanatos drive inside every creative mind. 

“The Concrete Masterpiece” is also an often hilarious skewing of the art world. Julien Cadazio is in prison for tax evasion when he discovers Moses’ work. He represents all the impertinence of art dealing, praising Moses when buying or selling his work, calling him overrated when he inconveniences him, and screaming at him when he thinks his work can’t be sold. His uncles are also art dealers and often approach Moses’ work with confusion. The woman who ultimately buys his work is a rich old woman from the Midwest, who speaks in a folksy hillbilly accent. It’s clear that those who seek to make commerce out of art have little understanding of the artist’s mind. This is hardly a new observation but Anderson and his team’s particular wit manages to make some fresh, funny observations about this often discussed topic. 

The cast of “The Concrete Masterpiece” sees a good mixture of Anderson regulars and newcomers to the director’s fold. Benicio del Toro is ideally cast in the role of Moses Rosenthaler, a frequently grumbling man who seems foggily stoic until he unleashes an animal-like frenzy. Two modes del Toro excels at. Lea Seydoux, gorgeous, is amusingly curt and implacable as the beguilingly mysterious muse. Adrien Brody gets to indulge in some comedic manicness as the haughty and high-strung Cadazio. It’s a similar role to his part in “The Grand Budapest Hotel” but a good use of Brody’s talents. Tilda Swinton gets some dry laughs in the framing device, when her professionalism slips, and it’s nice to see Bob Balaban and Henry Winkler in small roles.

“Revisions to a Manifesto” is the part of “The French Dispatch” that most reminds me of a prior Anderson movie. Inspired by the May 68 protests, Anderson dismiss any serious political concerns. Instead, the student protests are largely characterized by petty bickering. The students argue endlessly among themselves, about inconsequential topics like pop music or grammar. At one point, they are playing chess with the police over an intercom, suggesting the entire protest is more game than demonstration. Concentrating on the petty posturing of youth recalls “Rushmore” yet “Revisions to a Manifesto” never quite grasps the melancholy or longing of that movie. 

Which isn’t to say I disliked the segment. At its best, the story is an ode to the messiness of youth. The awkward way Zeffirelli stumbles into a relationship with an older woman, clearly having no idea what he’s doing, is endearing. As is the way he disguises his clear attraction to Juliette, his main rival in the protests, via their arguments. In its final moments, Krementz’ perspective emerges as the main point of the segment, looking on at the young man’s adventures with a nostalgic distance that he’s not capable of experiencing. In those final moments, what felt like a trifle becomes more meaningful.

It also helps that “Revisions of a Manifesto” has a very funny cast. Timothee Chalamet seems like such a natural fit for the Anderson style. His ability to deliver precise dialogue is well utilized but so is his comedic timing, especially when it comes to awkward stammering. He has strong chemistry with Frances McDormand, who gives a typically excellent performance as Krementz. She conveys both sadness and joy with a simple smile. I’m not familiar with Alayna Khoudri’s other credits but she gives the breakout performance here, stunning as Juliette. Also, this is the first time I’ve seen Cecile de France — in a small role as Zeffirelli’s mom — in anything in what feels like a very long time.*

The third installment of “The French Dispatch” is probably its most elaborately assembled segment, which is no small feat. The black-and-white photography becomes the most stark and stylized here of the entire film. The interior of the private dining room is very dark, making the brief splashes of light all the more striking. This is also the film’s most action-packed installment, featuring several sequences of gunfire. As technically marvelous as it is to watch Anderson’s tableaus come together, watching one split apart in gunfire is almost as impressive. The segment’s commitment to visual extravagance climaxes with a lengthy animated scene: A car chase through the city, which prominently features a circus strongman clinging to the hood of a moving car, that ends in an explosion. The cartooning recreates the magazine illustrations the entire movie is patterned after in bright colors and speedy motions. 

In fact, the story’s visual trickery is so overwhelming, that the human element sometimes feels a little lost. “The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner” has the most complex narrative of the film’s episodes, to the point where I was sometimes a little loss on what a particular character’s importance was to the plot. This is an element the entire film could be criticized for. “The French Dispatch” features so many playful set designs, so much breathlessly delivered information, so much exquisitely designed and displayed images that it sometimes feels more like a technical exercise than an emotional one. Could it be that Wes Anderson has become so hyper-focused on his brilliant images that he is loosing sight of the humor and heart that makes his best work resonate? 

Possibly and this is probably why the most effective scenes in “The French Dispatch” are its most quiet. This is especially clear in “The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner.” Two scenes stick out. When Roebuck’s retelling of his article is interrupted so that he can recall how he was recruited to the French Dispatch, is a moment where simple professionalism and human empathy among the characters is hard to distinguish. The emotional climax of the story concerns another soft-spoken man who commitment to his job connects directly with his insecurities as an outsider in society. And there is something to be said for a story that devoted so much time to the way food can connect people from different cultures and countries. 

Narrating the entire story is Jeffrey Wright’s sonorous voice, which has rarely been better used than here. Wright is a sure and steady storytelling who also knows to let just the right degree of vulnerability sneak into his telling. It’s clear that this is the director most capable of utilizing Edward Norton’s certain energy for comedy, as he’s frequently hilarious as the mastermind behind the story’s crime. Anderson is now of such a standing as a director that he can even fill minor roles with well-known actors. Willem DaFoe and Saoirse Ronan really just appear in two scenes, neither doing much besides appearing and saying a few lines. Though I definitely would’ve missed them if they weren’t there. 

Ultimately, “The French Dispatch” does not feel like the next major work from an important filmmaker. That doesn’t mean it isn’t frequently brilliant. It looks utterly fantastic and unwinds with such an incredible sense of charm and skill. The cast are all perfectly utilized. It’s often funny and sad and entertaining in all the right ways. I enjoyed it a lot, even if it also feels like Anderson just kind of playing around, instead of really trying to test his abilities as a filmmaker. And if he spends the rest of his career playing around like this, there’s certainly worst fates a director can suffer. “The French Dispatch” is extraordinarily assembled and executed, even if it ends up feeling curiously hollow at other times. [Grade: B]