I didn’t always dislike Wes Anderson’s work so intensely. It may be that when he stops clowning around long enough to make live-action films that aren’t self-conscious mash-ups of Looney Tunes and Buster Keaton/Charlie Chaplin Silent-Era capers I will like it again.
I am shivering all alone way out on a frozen tundra with this opinion. The New York Times has made The Grand Budapest Hotel a Critics Pick. I seldom disagree with them on their picks, but I can see A.O. Scott’s reasoning; to understand the film properly, in particular Anderson’s reference to Austrian writer Stefan Zweig, one should read Scott’s review.