Directed by:
Wes AndersonScreenplay:
Wes AndersonCinematography:
Robert D. YeomanComposer:
Alexandre DesplatCast:
Benicio Del Toro, Adrien Brody, Tilda Swinton, Léa Seydoux, Frances McDormand, Timothée Chalamet, Jeffrey Wright, Bill Murray, Lyna Khoudri, Owen Wilson (more)VOD (2)
Plots(1)
Wes Anderson's The French Dispatch brings to life a collection of stories from the final issue of an American magazine published in the fictional 20th-century French city of Ennui-sur-Blase. With an all-star cast, this vibrant film is a funny, moving celebration of journalism. (Walt Disney Studios Home Entertainment)
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Reviews (9)
The French Despatch ["and so on"] is another typical "Anderson flick", a continuation in story and especially in form of his previous films, yet it is fresh, brisk and certainly not boring. Once again I was enchanted by the meticulously planned scenes, which stood out for their plastic two-dimensionality and were accompanied by playful music and, this time, animated sequences. I was amazed at the number of more or less well-known actors who sometimes only flashed on the screen, but still left an impression. Likewise, I was once again carried away by the refined script, in which the word absurdity (as always) took on a new meaning. Anyone who is not averse to the director's idiosyncratic style will enjoy his latest film, and will smile with bliss.
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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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Wes Anderson's movie reportage, an amazing film that can be watched from beginning to end with a smile, preferably in the cinema, because that's the kind of film that cinemas were invented for. You can't help but admire the visuals and the innumerable ideas; all the actors are delightful, no matter how small their role, and each of the stories has something to offer. I look forward to seeing this delightful cannonade of fantasy again, and again, and again. Until then, I'll probably be listening nonstop to Desplat's amazing soundtrack.
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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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