Okay, you know how most mainstream movies feel like they were directed by a mini-van filled with blindfolded studio executives, headed in the wrong direction? And you know how most indies seem like they were directed by very nice, well-meaning people wearing shapeless khakis and rumpled t-shirts, who don’t have all that much to say?
Okay, let me start again. Let’s say that you’re sitting on the subway platform, waiting for your train, and everyone around you is a decent, ordinary person with a backpack. And then all of a sudden, you see someone who looks absolutely amazing, just strutting along, and everything about that person, whether it’s their genuinely original hair color or their velvet cape or their big smile just makes you feel terrific, and restores your belief in at least the possibility of happiness?
That’s how The Grand Budapest Hotel will make you feel. Because it’s not only a truly great movie, it’s a revolutionary anti-depressant.
I know that some people are wary about Wes Anderson movies, because they’re intensely art-directed, and the dialogue is very precise, and they can feel like those kind of toys which are so expensive that your parents won’t let you play with them. But I’ve always liked Wes’s movies, because I can tell that he’s obsessed, and that he’s probably spent a lot of time around cuckoo clocks, pop-up books and German stuffed animals.
But all of Wes’s other movies were just a warm-up for The Grand Budapest Hotel, which takes place mostly in the fictional country of Zubrowka. Ralph Fiennes is beyond heavenly as an elegant, loony hotel concierge, who gets involved in all sorts of international intrigue. I can’t really describe the plot, but it’s absolutely delightful, like a Jason Bourne movie with ascots and marzipan.
The Grand Budapest Hotel is also the perfect antidote to our currently endless winter, even though it does include a sleigh chase. It’s romantic and dashing and sad, just the way movies should be, instead of gloomy and tired and Important.
So if you’re feeling blue, because your shoes are caked with slush and salt, and because your apartment building hallway smells like other people’s takeout, and because if you read one more word about the Oscars you’ll cut your throat, go see The Grand Budapest Hotel. Because not only will it make you ridiculously happy, it might even make you stop wearing black all the time, if you ask me.
