Léa Seydoux, playing a prison guard, is Del Toro’s muse. The second tale, “The Concrete Masterpiece,” sees an imprisoned sociopathic painter (Benicio del Toro) coming to the attention of a huckster and imprisoned art dealer (Adrien Brody). The first story is written by the travel writer Herbsaint Sazerac (Owen Wilson), a slapstick exposé informed by his biking through the seedier areas of Ennui. It’s supposedly a love letter to the New Yorker of yore, but while The French Dispatch features Anderson’s familiar aesthetic style, it’s often a distant omnibus that might appeal only to his most ardent fans.įrom the beginning of the film, it’s difficult to square the emotional throughline. And yet this is the director’s least digestible work. Anderson’s penchant for dry comedy used to explain grief, the inner workings of dysfunctional people, and children experiencing the loss of innocence comes to the forefront once again. As is often the case with anthology-style films, some sections work better than others. The film is divided into five separate vignettes, each a reported column belonging to a specific newspaper section, written by one of the journalists. His favorite advice for his writers: “Try to make it sound like you wrote it that way on purpose.” The rest of the film takes place prior to his passing, tracking how his low-key spirited defense of his neurotic journalists and his blasé demeanor helped guide what stories made each issue. Anderson only notes that he passed away at his desk, and that his final wish was for the Dispatch to cease publication upon his death, with the final issue devoted to his obituary.
#WES ANDERSON THE FRENCH DISPATCH MOVIE#
The movie doesn’t address how Howitzer died. So he founded a supple magazine, The French Dispatch, as a supplement of The Evening Sun.
A Midwesterner inspired by his youthful travels to France, Howitzer wanted to send the happenings of Ennui-sur-Blasé back to the corn fields of Kansas. (Bill Murray), based on The New Yorker founder Harold Ross, has died.
His rotation through a bevy of far-flung correspondents opens with a eulogy: Arthur Howitzer Jr. Wes Anderson’s meticulously crafted omnibus narrative The French Dispatch pushes his pursuit of beauty to new levels, but he struggles to make it more than a visual exercise.
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