"The Grand Budapest Hotel" is not his grandest work yet, but it is one worth an extended stay.
The mannered, madcap proceedings are often delightful, occasionally silly, and here and there, gruesome and/or heartbreaking.
I like Anderson when he's making movies about childhood -- "Rushmore," or "Fantastic Mr. Fox" -- but when he ventures into the realm of adulthood, he seems out of his jurisdiction.
Grand isn't good enough a word for this Budapest Hotel. Great is more like it.
Anderson's films are too precious for some, but for those of us willing to lose ourselves in them, they're a delight. "The Grand Budapest Hotel" is no different, except that he has added a hint of gravitas to the mix, improving the recipe.
The movie is a flume ride through the imagination of one of the most creative minds making movies today, and the pleasure curls your toes. Also, be ready to crave some macaroons.
"Budapest" is pretty much an old-fashioned screwball comedy garishly dressed. It's goofy, eccentric and often downright silly. There are many scenes that would have worked in a "Three Stooges" movie.
After feeding on this sweet buffet, sated cinephiles will want to call the front desk to extend their stay.
In its own silly, artificial way, it's the first Anderson film to acknowledge the existence of a world outside its own little toy box and to ground its characters' nostalgia in something resembling actual historical reality.