Reżyseria:
Wes AndersonScenariusz:
Wes AndersonZdjęcia:
Robert D. YeomanMuzyka:
Alexandre DesplatObsada:
Benicio Del Toro, Adrien Brody, Tilda Swinton, Léa Seydoux, Frances McDormand, Timothée Chalamet, Jeffrey Wright, Bill Murray, Lyna Khoudri, Owen Wilson (więcej)VOD (5)
Opisy(1)
Zbiór opowiadań z ostatniego numeru amerykańskiego magazynu wydawanego w fikcyjnym francuskim mieście Ennui-sur-Blasé w XX wieku. Po śmierci Arthura Howitzera, redaktora "The French Dispatch", pracownicy Howitzera zbierają się, by napisać jego nekrolog, co prowadzi do powstania czterech historii. (Loomi)
Materiały wideo (2)
Recenzje (9)
The more recent Anderson’s films, the less animate the dolls he plays with, but they inhabit grander and more decorous rooms. The paradox of his tribute to the floridly descriptive and snobbishly authorial style of journalism consists in the fact that his film highlights its artificiality and illusoriness.
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Wes Anderson has his own unique world, and he keeps crafting film after film within it. His vast knowledge and the way he subtly layers his movies with endless details deserve immense respect. However, I sometimes feel that what his films lack — and it took me a while to find the right word — is entertainment. There are tons of ideas here, and the cast, as always, is packed with talent, each actor delivering in their roles. The premise of a magazine editor passing away and the subsequent publication of a final issue, with each article brought to life by Anderson, sounds captivating at first. But after about half an hour, the novelty wears off, and you start longing for the end. Maybe there’s just too much packed into it for one viewing, or perhaps the fragmented structure of the story, split into smaller, less engaging segments, is the issue. It’s hard to pinpoint. For me, The Grand Budapest Hotel still stands as Anderson’s best work within this hard-to-define genre — it's the funniest, most imaginative, and musically brilliant of his films. Unfortunately, all the elements that made that movie great are what The French Dispatch seems to be missing.
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A short story tribute to "good old France and reportage journalism" that starts with by far the best story (meaning the Seydoux/Del Toro one, not the introductory one), which makes the others seem a bit unfairly ordinary. Another snag is that they are "one and the same". This is doubly annoying because they are "as if by different authors, each with their own unique style of writing", which should have resulted in each having a clear visual identity. But they are all an amalgamation of styles (different genres, film periods, animation) and therefore they are all indistinguishable from each other. Otherwise, everything is typically Anderson: distinctive poetics, elaborate camerawork, work with pompous mise-en-scene, performances on the edge of caricature, but without slipping into goofiness. Overall, this is so much a Wes Anderson film you’ll know with absolute certainty in advance whether you will like it or not. The only question is how much you'll (dis)like it, since it's a Wes Anderson film that's kind of idling this time.
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After the death of a magazine publisher, the writers find out that their magazine is ending. And in the last issue, besides the obituary, they will publish the best articles about art, politics, and food. Wes Anderson presents a not very interesting bunch of stories about journalists in a form that prevents him from selling what usually makes his films most interesting.
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I am surprised by how positively The French Dispatch is received, how willingly the audience jumps on another Wes Anderson dreamy train on the way to their own memories, regrets, and desires. What is missing is that famous step towards the audience, which usually makes such a journey easier through the fantastic world of The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou or the playful animation of Fantastic Mr. Fox. This time, styles are referenced, forms are homaged, stories are swapped out, and the pace is treacherous due to the differing length and mood of the individual segments. However, when this headwind is overcome, it becomes an inventive, crazy, and contemplative mosaic of everything and everyone, from which, under the weight of the avalanche of various stimuli, the inability to keep up almost leaves your head hurting by the end.
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