Mischief-maker Wes Anderson’s whimsy scales new heights
THE Grand Budapest Hotel is a fabulous old pile in the fictional state of Zubrowska. In 1932, as Zubrowska waits to be invaded and annexed by the fascist Zig Zags, the hotel plays host to the great and the titled of Europe.
And presiding over the hallowed halls and steam-swathed bath-houses, watching and fussing over every detail, running each day in the manner of a lavender scented military campaign, is the concierge Monsieur Gustave.
But even as the tanks mass on the border, and the population of the tiny alpine nation prepare for the worst, a far greater calamity befalls the hotel.
Their beloved client Madame D. has passed away, and Gustave – who makes a habit of doing rather more for his wealthy female guests than merely carrying their bags – must rush to the reading of the will.
But the will is contested by Madame D’s diabolical family, and Gustave is soon running for his life from a motley assortment of
Budapest Hotel. bullies, henchmen, fascists and bakers.
Listen, if you’re a fan of director Wes Anderson ( Moonrise Kingdom, The Fantastic Mr Fox, The Royal Tenenbaums) then all you need to hear from me is that The Grand Budapest Hotel is his best film to date, better even than Moonrise Kingdom.
And if you’re not a fan, then I think Budapest Hotel will make a fine place to start.
Anderson is a quirky and utterly idiosyncratic film-maker. His regular players – Owen Wilson, Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman, Adrien Brody – are joined here by a terrific Ralph Fiennes, F Murray Abraham, Harvey Keitel, Jude Law, Willem Dafoe and newcomer Tony Revolori.
The film is whimsical, deeply funny, unexpectedly moving, and completely entrancing.
In among the madcap chase across snowy mountains, Anderson works in sly observations on bravery, identity, and virtue.
Anderson has always been a precocious and mischievous filmmaker. But with Moonrise Kingdom, and now this, there is also real depth, maturity, and compassion evident in his writing. It’ll be too mannered, too conceited and too stagey for some. But for others, this is going to be one of the films of the year.
Directed by John Curran
Reviewed by Graeme Tuckett
IN 1977, 26-year-old Robyn Davidson, driven by her own complex suite of emotions, decided to cross Australia from Alice Springs to the Indian Ocean (a distance of 2700 km) on foot, in the company of three camels and a hound named Diggity.
She took up an ‘‘apprenticeship’’ with one decidedly dodgy camel farm operator, who after eight months reneged on offering her the pair of camels she was expecting as payment.
Then Davidson lucked into the company of a veritable camelguru, who showed her the ropes, taught her the dark arts of befriending and rearing the massive dromedaries, and sent her on her way with his best wishes and a bolt-action Ruger in her saddle bag.
For nine months Davidson walked through the unimaginably vast and alien Australian hinterland. To raise money, she had reluctantly accepted the occasional company of a photographer from National Geographic magazine ( Girls’ Adam Driver).
The photographs, with Davidson’s accompanying text, were published in 1978. They caused a sensation, and Davidson expanded her account in to a book.
Tracks was published in 1979, and now it has finally been filmed.
I’m surprised it took so long. Tracks is a great yarn, full of heat, solitude, danger, transformation, and all of it set among those stunning, unearthly landscapes.
As Davidson, Mia Wasikowska is perfectly cast. Wasikowska bears a remarkable resemblance to Davidson, but, more importantly she captures exactly the wary, watchful demeanour that is needed to bring tension and drama to long near-wordless sequences.
It says a lot about the craft of Marion Nelson’s screenplay, that she never has to resort to narration or voice-over to spin her tale.
For a while, in what we could loosely call its second act, the film is overly concerned with the relationship that briefly flared between Davidson and the photographer. But once that is
Selfish Giant.
Superb as a troubled young teen in The resolved, and the land and its silences are allowed to re-assert themselves as the film’s actual costars, Tracks quickly hits its straps.
There is a grand Australian tradition of near-surreal, dreamlike films set out in the red dusty beyond. Director John Curran ( Praise), and cinematographer Mandy Walker (Lantana, Australia) place Tracks firmly in this tradition. It is an admirable, enthralling ride, that pretty much demands to be seen on a proper movie screen.
Directed by Clio Barnard
Reviewed by James Croot
EVOKING memories of Danny Boyle’s Millions, Shane Meadows’ This Is England and the kitchen-sink dramas of Ken Loach, British writer-director Clio Barnard’s feature film debut is notable for her visual flair and terrific performances from its young cast.
Inspired by both Oscar Wilde’s 1888 story of the same name and two Bradford boys Barnard met while filming her 2010 documentary The Arbor, The Selfish Giant tells the modern Dickensian-cum-Thomas Hardyesque tale of troubled teens Arbor (Conner Chapman) and Swifty (Shaun Thomas).
More interested in moneymaking than attending school, the pair magpie any metal that’s not nailed down, turning copper wire into ‘‘brass’’.
However, their pilfering ways and disrespect for authority are threatening to catch up with them, an exasperated principal excludes them from school, while local scrapyard owner Kitten (Sean Glider) promises physical harm when not using their skills to line his own pockets.
A searing and heart- breaking "feel bad" film (think Ken Loach circa 1998’s My Name is Joe rather than his most recent upbeat works), what could have been a mirky, maudlin mope-fest is elevated by the brio of newcomers Chapman and Thomas and some truly evocative imagery.
Barnard creates some terrific contrasts between the still, silent landscapes and the kinetic, crazy lives of our protagonist pair, juxtaposing fixed long shots with hand-held close-ups, many of the latter taken from the boys’ eye level. It allows the audience to sympathise and connect with the two tearaways, making the haunting final twist even more emotionally powerful.