A new Wes Anderson movie usually means a relitigation of the tired, decades-old Wes Anderson argument: is he obnoxious or charming? As a mild-to-strong fan of Anderson’s filmography, I generally find his writing and directorial style amusing, engaging, and occasionally stirring—so keep that in mind and align my opinions accordingly with your preconceived notions of Anderson. (I’ve never quite understood the incessant dunking on Anderson’s distinct stamp; more filmmakers could benefit from having a recognizably unique voice in their offerings!) The French Dispatch, Anderson’s latest, shouldn’t make waves in either camp of fans or eye-rollers. It’s lightweight Wes, and free from the pressures of competing against his arguable masterpieces, The Royal Tenenbaums or The Grand Budapest Hotel. If you’re already on Anderson’s wavelength, it’s a perfect piece of Wes-infused entertainment.
That’s not to say Dispatch is shy on emotional depth. Anderson’s self-described “love letter to journalists” is a collection of short stories bringing to life the last edition of a fictional, Kansas-based foreign bureau magazine. The three short story segments are book-ended by the final days of the Dispatch’s editor, Bill Murray’s Arthur Howitzer, Jr., who supplies the totality of the film with a downplayed sweetness. Each segment bursts with originality and heart. No one talks like a real person as Anderson’s many characters breezily spill effortlessly cool and clever witticisms, brought to life by an impressive assembly of celebrated actors and actresses. One after another, beloved Oscar-winners make their delightful entrances and exits, entrancing the audience with the rhythm of Anderson’s dialogue and their idiosyncratic performances.
On top of this, the movie looks great. Anderson’s production design is always meticulous and a fascinating place to spend 90 minutes. He stages impressive set pieces, particularly a handful of practical freeze frames, with cast members and extras frozen amidst chaotic action as Anderson’s camera pans through. During one of the segments, Anderson transforms a car chase into an extended (and hilarious) animated sequence. He fills Dispatch with wonderful sight gags and slapstick and a dry, self-deprecating dialogue. Anderson’s gift is his ability to emphasize the eccentric and laughable traits of his characters without sacrificing their humanity or likability.
The French Dispatch is more of the same, but that’s always a good time with Wes Anderson. Not every installment in a notable filmmaker’s filmography needs to be a game changer to be a worthwhile watch. (It reminds me of the dragging received by the Coen brothers’ Hail, Caesar! Sure, it’s mid-tier Coens, but it’s fun! It had movie stars and musical numbers! Calm down.) Dispatch is an affectionate, cheerful package of classic Anderson characters, writing, and center framing. You can’t go wrong.
The French Dispatch is currently playing in theaters. It runs 107 minutes and is rated R for graphic nudity, some sexual references and language.
