The French Dispatch (2021)

There’s a quote from The Grand Budapest Hotel that I keep going back to as a lovely sentiment and summation of this remarkable artist who continues to make movies that dazzle the senses. "To be frank, I think his world had vanished long before he ever entered it. But I will say, he certainly sustained the illusion with a marvelous grace." Wes Anderson is undoubtedly one of the great visual stylists of modern cinema and once again, he is showing his immense talent on display with unmistakable sophistication that only he along with his talented cast and crew could create. Here with his latest, The French Dispatch, I was consistently in awe of how much detail goes into nearly every single frame, but when it comes to the worlds he has created going all the way back to Rushmore, attention to detail is something we’ve come to expect and appreciate over time. There’s a reason why he’s one of those directors that makes the kind of movies you can’t wait to rewatch the minute that it’s over.

This energetic, joyful love letter to journalistic integrity and the craft of creating is told through the writing of a group of expats bound together by the pages of a New Yorker inspired periodical titled The French Dispatch. The magazine began as a Sunday supplement in the Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun before being relocated to France and transformed by founding editor and publisher Arthur Howitzer Jr. (Bill Murray). Howitzer had an eye for finding talent in unexpected corners of the world and would take them on, looking past their flaws and encouraging them to use their voices. He had his ways with suggestions (“Just try to make it sound like you wrote it that way on purpose”). But Howitzer is dedicated to his team in a way that made the publication less like a job and more like a family. After a Tati-esque introduction to the town and its inhabitants, we are launched into a series of three separate stories, all with their intricacies and charms that we’ve come to expect from Anderson. As it went on, I became more and more enraptured while also thinking “detractors of his style will likely not connect with this one at all.”

The first feature story (“The Concrete Masterpiece'') was conceived by the Dispatch’s art critic J. K. L. Berensen (Tilda Swinton). It tells the story of Moses Rosenthaler (Benicio del Toro), an incarcerated killer and oil painter extraordinaire locked in an icy romance with his enigmatic prison guard muse (Léa Seydoux). Of course it becomes another sad case of unrequited love. The two get involved with a shifty art dealer Julien Cadazio (Adrien Brody) who sees francs in Rosenthaler’s art.

For the “Politics & Poetry '' section, ace reporter Lucinda Krementz (Frances McDormand) pens “Revisions to a Manifesto,” Anderson’s whimsical portrayal of student protests in Paris. Krementz centers her piece on a moody student radical named Zeffirelli (Timothée Chalamet) who fights not for civil rights or the end of imperialist oppression, but for free access to the women’s dorm. Krementz, a firm unbeliever in the concept of “journalistic objectivity,” throws herself into the fray, helping young Zeffirelli with his manifesto and stirring up trouble between him and fellow revolutionary Juliette (Lyna Khoudri).

The final feature (“The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner”) is written by Roebuck Wright (Jeffrey Wright), a James Baldwin inspired foodie with a “typographic memory.”  In his story Wright recounts a private dinner with the Ennui Police Commissaire (Mathieu Amalric). The meal is prepared by renowned chef and police lieutenant Nescaffier (Steve Park). The cozy feast is crashed by a band of thugs who kidnap the Commissaire’s son Gigi (Winston Ait Hellal). The entire police force is “dispatched” to track down the hoodlums. One of the highlights of this sequence involves an animated reenactment of events, adding to the wildly cartoonish proceedings (this is a compliment). 

More often than not, it feels like French New Wave colliding in the best way possible with Anderson’s signature carnival dollhouse style that has become even more loose and playful after delving into the world of stop-motion animation with The Fantastic Mr. Fox. That experience was very difficult for him if memory serves, yet incredibly rewarding since it was almost as if it reinvigorated Anderson to simply just accept the fact that he is not always focused on plot mechanics, but rather the go-for-broke (yet meticulous) execution of what he puts inside each frame. It’s often a cinematic pinata - full of surprises as each scene unfolds. Most of the film is shot in full frame but it jumps to widescreen as well as constantly yet seamlessly going from colorful images that look like pastel drawings to stunning black and white cinematography. In another movie it may have felt jarring but here it feels like we are being immersed into a series of beautiful paintings from a gallery at a museum. Which is appropriate given the first story in particular.

There are a lot of long shots, very few close ups. It does contain trademark symmetrical framing in many of the shots and lots of gliding dolly shots where subjects remain still. Certain scenes wouldn’t be out of place in a completely different era of filmmaking, like the silent era. This is one of those films that you could likely put on mute and still be able to comprehend what is going on since Anderson definitely cares about each frame like a painter. Everything is conveyed masterfully but also, almost to a fault. Your senses may have a hard time keeping up with what’s being presented at you at such a rapid pace. It’s the kind of movie that I definitely have to go back to in order to process everything I’ve seen and make sure I didn’t miss little details along the way. (Akin to Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker, there is a lot going on in the background in some cases to where I’m certain I missed certain connections from scene to scene).

The only major issue I have is that with as large of an ensemble we are blessed with here, a lot of notably great actors barely get any time to shine. There should’ve been more of a narrative thread or story connection for actors like Willem Dafoe, Elisabeth Moss or Saoirse Ronan to do. Even Bill Murray only has a few scenes to bring the editor-in-chief to life. Granted, all of these actors probably feel blessed to even just spend a couple of days working on set with Anderson, but I would’ve loved to see more interaction and interplay among this entire cast rather than separating them into individual storylines. That being said, nearly everyone that does get prolonged screen time is reliably great, particularly Benicio Del Toro who clearly is a great comedic presence (see Inherent Vice for more proof) as well as Jeffrey Wright. I feel like they’re given the most character depth and have some of the more memorable line deliveries that elicit some of the bigger laughs, in a film that mostly evokes bittersweet smiles.

As much of a comedy this tends to be, there are hints of sad, lonely melancholy sprinkled in especially once we arrive at a revealing moment between Wright and Howitzer as they go over a deleted section that Howitzer insists “shouldn’t be deleted.” That might be the key moment to the entire film as it highlights the loneliness of outsiders who magically learn to connect with others through their talent and craft. I also think of a beautifully sublime and mostly silent moment late in the second story where Krementz points Howitzer to her final draft, sitting on a chair, waiting to be read. Look at how much space and distance exists in that frame between them but what binds them together is her latest work of art, a piece that is about to be published and appreciated by her mentor. Moments like that sneak up on you in a movie that is mostly style, but dig deep and much like Anderson’s other work, you find plenty of substance to unearth underneath the cracks. The French Dispatch felt like a film that embraces the artistic process that is fueled by loneliness. Each character is alone in their own unique way, but this may not be a bad thing at all.

I don’t write as often as I’d like to due to a busy life of work and graduate school, but it almost feels too appropriate to write about The French Dispatch, since in some ways (like another great film with McDormand, Wonder Boys) it is celebrating the art and craft of writing down your perspective in a way that hopefully makes sense and connects to others in some meaningful way. I’ve gotten used to the art of putting together a podcast which is mostly just an archived conversation between two people. I think as I’ve gotten older, I’ve preferred listening to other people talk as opposed to reading words. At the same time, I love a great story whether it’s spoken aloud or written down. Clearly Wes Anderson does too. He loves the people he works with and definitely loves a wide variety of artistry which is on display constantly in this film.

I’m not sure if this is one of his best yet because I emotionally connect far more strongly to his earlier work, particularly Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums and Moonrise Kingdom. At the same time, this does feel like a beautiful (and sometimes manic) summation of all his strengths, with an eager cast that gives it their all even if some are left on the sidelines more than I would’ve liked. As a huge fan of this filmmaker, I had a feeling it would lift me from my malaise that has stayed with me for a few months this year so I couldn’t be more grateful for a new Wes Anderson film even if it came a year late due to Covid. Once it was over, I absolutely wanted to revisit all of his work which to me is a sign of a great director who can make you appreciate them all over again on different levels. And as someone who struggles to put thoughts down on paper, it says something that this film also made me look forward to the process of writing again all while looking forward to the future of whatever comes next from one of our great artists working today.