A nested narrative spanning four time frames (though set primarily in the 1930s), the film tells the story of the Gustave H, concierge/lothario of fictitious hotel. He and his protege, a young lobby boy, are swept up in a web of intrigue when an old woman dies under mysterious circumstances, leaving Gustave an extremely valuable painting in her will. Rival heirs seek to reclaim the art and frame Gustave for a murder they themselves may have carried out. Hijinks ensue.
I can't think of a stronger example of "conspicuous film making" than this. Every frame is self aware, and crafted to call attention to itself. It starts with Wes Anderson's choice to shoot each time frame in a different aspect ratio -- with the largest part framed in 1.33, the old television (and even older film) ratio. The black bars on the left and right edges of the screen create the impression of looking at a storybook, and the visuals only underscore this. Wise location shots are created with models, chase sequences realized with obvious rear projection, and some elements of the sets are clearly non-functional.
Framing for the narrow screen size defies many of the conventions an audience has come to expect in this age of widescreen. And it leads to even more conspicuous Anderson trickery. Characters who are placed very close to each other in profile shots are suddenly much farther away when cutting to closeups. Sudden pans are used to reveal things that would have been visible all along in a more conventional format. And all this playfulness is absolutely part of the intended effect: a story that does not pretend to pass itself off as reality.
Another way the audience is kept at arm's length is the cast, a long, long list of faces so recognizable, each one briefly pulls you out of the narrative. Ralph Fiennes is the charismatic Gustave H. His lobby boy Zero is played by Tony Revolori -- likely the only face in the film you won't recognize. Otherwise, each new scene seemingly brings a new star: Adrien Brody, Willem Dafoe, Jeff Goldblum, Saoirse Ronan, Edward Norton, F. Murray Abraham, Jude Law, Harvey Keitel, Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman, Tilda Swinton, Owen Wilson, Bob Balaban... on and on and on. Nor does Anderson try to channel their performances in a way that makes them feel like they belong in the same film together. There is no consistent accent suggesting a single location; every performer speaks in his or her own voice. Often, the performers are deliberately affecting a cliche version of themselves; Willem Dafoe mugs for the camera, Jeff Goldblum bites off his dialogue in his characteristic way, Bill Murray doesn't really seem to be acting, and so forth.
The result is more confection than film, a sugary sweet tale that will absolutely be too weird for most people. I have to include myself in that, to some extent. While I certainly recognized and appreciated the cinematic vision here, I can't say I always enjoyed it. The tale didn't seem to amount to much. For my money, winking at convention can be a fun diversion within a film, but I don't believe it justifies an entire film.
Still, it's at least somewhat enjoyable as art. I'd call it a C+ overall. If quirky is your thing, you should probably check it out.
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