The great ‘Grand Budapest Hotel’

My friend Jenni and I had planned to go see The Grand Budapest Hotel weeks ago, back when it first opened.

But things like Days of Future Past got in the way and we simply missed our opportunity (or so we thought). But then, quite serendipitously, I was presented with an open Saturday night in Atlanta after a get together for the volunteers of the Atlanta Film Fest. There was an array of movie merchandise that was made available for anyone to snag and someone pointed out the fact that there was “a really cool Mendel’s box over there” if I was so interested. “Mendel’s box?” I asked. “I dunno what that’s from.” “Grand Budapest Hotel,” my friend replied. “Haven’t you seen it?”

Over the next two hours nearly everyone who was present at our post-Fest shindig encouraged me to catch Wes Anderson’s newest feature endeavor ASAP because it was awesome (these are people who volunteer to work 50 or 60-hour weeks at a film festival for free so, you know, they really like movies). Lucky for me, one theater in the area was still screening it and there happened to be one showing left for the day. So, as fate would have it, Jenni and I had not missed our chance to see it on the big screen after all.

If you’re unfamiliar with Wes Anderson (and I would assume you aren’t as you are reading an amateur blogger’s humble opinion on all things film related so you must harbor a passion for movies like my friends at the fest do and, thus, would be familiar with a director like Anderson), some of his more notable projects include Moonrise Kingdom, The Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Life Aquatic and, of course, The Royal Tenenbaums. He’s known for his vivid color pallets and theatrical set design as well as his large casts and consistent collaborators like Bill Murray, Owen Wilson,  and Jason Schwartzman. All of whom appear, at some point, in Grand Budapest.

The Grand Budapest Hotel does feature these regular Wes Anderson players but focuses, for the most part, on talent that has not frequented his projects. His latest endeavor’s central cast includes Ralph Finnes and newcomer Tony Revolori, along with Saoirse Ronan, Adrian Brody, Willem Dafoe, Edward Norton, Jude Law, Jeff Goldblum, Tom Wilkinson and Tilda Swinton, just to name a few. If you still don’t know what in the hell film I’m talking about, here’s a trailer for your viewing pleasure:

The trailer does a pretty bang-up job of outlining the nearly-convoluted plot of Grand Budapest, a story in which a young man with designs on being a lobby boy (Revolori) falls under the mentorship of Mr. Gustav H. (Finnes), the manager of The Grand Budapest Hotel. Mr. Gustav, who has affairs with multiple clients during their stay at the luxury hotel, carries a particular affection for Madame D. (Swinton), who very suddenly dies with an enormous fortune left to be sorted out amongst her family. Disaster inevitably strikes when Madam D.’s son Dmitri (Brody) discovers that Gustav was left with the family’s most prized possession, a painting titled “Boy with Apple”. Gustav is almost immediately framed for Madam D.’s murder and, thus, must hide the painting and prove his innocence before Dmitri’s hit man, Jopling (Dafoe), gets a hold of him or the authorities, led by Hinckels (Norton), capture and incarcerate him.

In many ways, Grand Budapest follows the patterns of Anderson’s style to a ‘T’. Visually, the film is vivid and distinct, as many sets are not magicked into looking less like models and backdrops are often hand-painted canvases to give a sense of presentation. Everything about Grand Budapest, in fact, is fairly dramatically presentational. The costumes and make-up design are often slightly ludicrous, the editing is quick and the dialogue, sharp. The plot itself is, get this, a triple framed narrative. That’s right, this film is about a girl reading the works of our unnamed Author (Wilkinson) who is detailing his experience visiting the Grand Budapest in his youth (Law) and meeting Mr. Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham) who then invites him to a dinner during which he explains his experience serving under Mr. Gustav as a lobby boy.*

*If you didn’t follow that, it’s cool. I’m still trying to work it out myself.

The interesting thing about Grand Budapest is despite it’s theatricality and humor, as Anderson films often possess, this narrative has more grit that anyone would be able to gather from the trailers or even an outline of the plot. The film ends up being a thinly-veiled allegory for the political culture in Europe between WWI and WWII, with Zero being a refugee of some kind, Hinckels being an officer of the ZZ (obviously representing the SS), and the death, literally and figuratively, of aristocratic culture, represented by the literal death of Madam D. and the failure of The Grand Budapest Hotel in later years, as detailed by our first narrator while visiting the hotel in the mid-1960s.

This is not to say that previous Anderson projects lacked heart, but the assertion can easily be made that this latest addition to the Anderson filmography carries more weight, more drama and more humanity that it’s director had previously shown. It’s as dryly witty as anyone can anticipate but with all the depth and feeling that was as surprising as it was pleasant. Like Mr. Gustav, it’s true character sneaks up on you but once it is revealed, its a most precious teacher indeed.

Stay tuned.

 

 

Taking back the art of moviegoing

Remember when going to the movies was fun?

Not to say that it’s not ever fun anymore, but I remember when going to the movies was caused pure, unhindered joy. I remember being surprised by films like (500) Days of Summer and The Prestige, having no idea they would end up being some of my absolute favorites. I remember watching The Dark Knight breathless with fear and anticipation. I remember watching the opening credits for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and thinking “In exactly two hours I will be wishing with all my heart that I was back here, at this moment, experiencing it all over again for the first time.” I remember loving going to the movies.

That’s not to say that movies today are comparatively sub-par. I think the back half of 2013 disproves that theory all on it’s own (Dallas Buyers Club, Saving Mr. Banks, American Hustle, Frozen, Philomena, just to name a few). And while many could make the argument that growing up skews someone’s ability to lose themselves in feature filmmaking, no matter how spectacular or captivating, I choose to plead Peter Pan. My growing up only inspires me to appreciate quality storytelling more than ever.

I think, when it comes down to it, we are the reason going to the movies isn’t so fun anymore. I think it’s clear us moviegoers have lost some of our flair for the art of moviegoing. And I think it’s time to seize back the things that make a Friday night in the theater, popcorn in hand, so wonderful.

Take so-called midnight releases, for example. In the good ole days, that meant the film was released at (shocker here) midnight. I distinctly remember my mom taking me and my brother to see Revenge of the Sith during it’s midnight premiere. I remember her making us go to bed at 7:00 pm so we’d get enough sleep beforehand and then again afterwards so we wouldn’t be in trouble during school the next morning. Then, when I was a sophomore in high school, the premiere Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End was predicted to be such a huge event that Disney scheduled 8:00 pm screenings the Thursday evening beforehand. Thus, totally defeating the purpose of the Midnight Premiere. Obviously.

Now, it’s pretty typical for movies to have 8:00 pm releases unless you’re in some no-name town that wouldn’t have a large audience either way. Where’s the sense of occasion, moviegoers? Where’s the novelty in being the first to see a film upon it’s release if it’s not actually the release date. You know what the cool part about seeing films at midnight used to be? It used to be an experience that you shared with only those who were willing to get up in the middle of the night to see this film, who simply could not wait until morning. The minute a new day began, it was time to watch a movie.

Is our culture so wrapped up in instant gratification that we really can’t take waiting four more hours to watch a film? Apparently so, for literally every film ever made has a midnight release these days. That title used to be reserved for films that had people clamoring for seats, buying tickets days or weeks in advance. These days, films fill 8:00 pm premieres with those who might be only mildly interested because it’s the newest thing and, that way, they don’t have to stand in line all night and force themselves to stay up with a combination of Red Bull and Snow Caps.

I know, I know. I sound like a 70 year-old yapping about the ‘good ole days’. Listen, I was at that 8:00 pm release of At World’s End. I think the fact that a film was so popular that Disney decided to forego a major chunk of its Opening Weekend Box Office revenue in order to let anyone who was passionate about their project see the film is pretty amazing. But every film can’t be that way. Otherwise, premiere’s lose a bit of their luster.

My other complaints against the modern moviegoer are similar. Small, independent theaters are dying because those buying tickets prefer monstrous, reclining seats and bars just through the doors from the Box Office because, otherwise, what kind of moviegoing experience would that be? (That was sarcasm, people. I hope you picked up on that). I understand the price of a movie ticket can be stressful or, in many cases, physically painful, but all of those problems are a product of an age where everyone has the option to curl up on their couch and have their pick of thousands of films without getting out of their yoga pants. Movies have to make money, theaters have to sell tickets to make them money, and the world spins madly on. You don’t have to see a film once a week to support moviemaking, but trekking to a historic theater or an independent complex (or both) has a sense of occasion that the major commercial theater around the corner just won’t have.

My third and biggest complaint against today’s movie audiences is one most have heard ten thousand times, but I’ll relay my thoughts here in case someone missed the memo: being on your cell phone during a movie is not cool. The light is distracting. The sounds are distracting. The fever with which many of you tap-tap-tap on iMessage in order for you to communicate with your dad that you won’t be home for dinner or your bros that you’ll hang with them after you finish watching The Fault in Our Stars with your lady is really damn distracting. I’m sure this might come as a shock to many of you, but you are not the center of the universe. And your continued use of your phone is a gesture that reads to the rest of us that you don’t give a shit about anyone else around you. Turn. The. Phone. Off. If you want to be able to behave how you want, go home and watch whatever is playing on AMC.*

*This theory holds true for anyone who elects to behave as if they are the only people in the theater. Movie talkers, teenagers making out in the back row, and parents with young children who inevitably scream hysterically or run up and down the isles because “they need to expel some energy”, should all heed my advice and stay away. Come to the movies but come when you can handle respecting everyone else in the room.

Just a few days ago, I was in Atlanta when my friend Jenni called and asked if I was interested in a movie date. The Grand Budapest Hotel (which was wonderful, by the way. Full review tomorrow.) was playing at my favorite theater in the world, The Tara, and there was a 10:15 showing. “Done,” Jenni had said. “I’ll be there in half an hour.” As I approached the theater from the down the street, the flashing lights outside of the building make it identifiable from a block away. As I rushed up to the Box Office to grab my ticket (I was running late), the attendant said “Grand Budapest Hotel?” I nodded. “Your friend is inside. The previews haven’t even started yet. You’re good to go.” I marveled at his kindness and the continued courtesy of the ticket attendant and the concessions operator, both of which pointed me towards my designated screen and Jenni. As I rushed off down the hall, I couldn’t help but marvel at what a beautiful theater this was, full of old majesty in a way few theaters were. In the auditorium, there wasn’t a bad seat to find, despite not being raked. I sat, enjoyed the film immensely and did not realize until I was in my car on the way home why that movie-going experience was so pleasant.

There was occasion to the experience. There was excitement. I waited weeks after the film’s release to finally see it because I hadn’t had the chance, but that made the experience all the sweeter. I went to an old, unimpressive (by some standards) theater and was taken aback by the culture and physical beauty of the building. Best of all, no damn cell phones. No talking, no teenagers making out, no crying babies, no distractions. In fact, the only things I remember distinctly about the audience is how much I enjoyed hearing them respond with shock or fear or amusement or excitement when the plot would twist and turn before us. They were classy moviegoers, they were wholly engaged. That night, I had achieved my trifecta of moviegoing bliss. And I refuse to believe that’s the last time it will ever happen.

So, moviegoers one and all, hear my arguments and consider them. Before I tell you about how I used to hike down highways to watch movies. 5 miles. Uphill. Both ways.

Stay tuned.