Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel is a very different kind of film. I will avoid describing the plot or the events of the film in the hopes that you all make your way to see it and judge for yourselves the events that unfold. Generally though movies are a work of art, but few are a work of art that encompasses so much art like this film.
The film much like a great dream seemed to be from another era altogether. It had an incredibly unique story, witty writing, delightful sets, a breathtaking aesthetic, and strong performances by the ensemble cast. After all that, the film also had character; I do not mean characters, which it resoundingly had. I mean the film had a personable magnetism that can be attributed to something special beyond the physical realm. That is to say the film possessed a great eccentricity that represented the eclectic individuality of humanity.
This sometimes awkward yet always interesting charm that each person possesses has often been subverted by society in an attempt to glorify the mainstream or the culturally acceptable. Take Socrates for example, he stood out from what most Athenians believed by holding true to contemplation and independent thought; and he was executed for espousing such beliefs. The film is exactly like Socrates, it is bearded, unapologetic, free-thinking, incomparable, and indelibly entertaining; for better or worse, entertaining.