Image courtesy of IMDB.
After going two years without stepping foot in a movie theater, it was The French Dispatch that finally drew me away from my laptop and into the familiar setting. The act of purchasing a ticket and a bucket of popcorn felt revolutionary after so much time had elapsed.
The wait proved worthwhile. While watching The French Dispatch, Wes Anderson’s latest production, I recalled all the ways that seeing a movie in theaters is an unmatched experience. I love the way the image is amplified on the screen, rendering the audience miniature and mesmerized. Anderson's work is recognizable for its vibrancy and attention to detail, and particularly well-suited to this format.
A note to the spoiler-averse — I will be describing several plot points in the coming review.
Anderson’s most recent masterstroke is an ode to print media, presented, perhaps ironically, in film. The title is derived from a fictionalized publication, edited by Arthur Howitzer, Jr. (Bill Murray) and staffed by a handful of oddball writers. Anderson often crafts his stories around a band of misfits or a dysfunctional family (or both — think The Royal Tenenbaums). In this case, the journalists compose their own sort of clan. Howitzer assumes the role of patriarch of The French Dispatch family, the captain at the helm of the publication, a role that viewers are accustomed to seeing Murray fill in Anderson’s films.
When the film begins, Howitzer has just passed away. The film is divided into four digestible segments, each of them correlating to a story published in the final issue of The French Dispatch. The entirety of the film takes place in the fictionalized Francophone town of Ennui-sur-Blasé, which with my menial knowledge of the French language (and my ability to use the internet) translates roughly to “Boredom-on-Boredom.” The tales that Anderson’s journalists concoct, however, are anything but boring.
First, Herbsaint Sazerac (Owen Wilson) introduces viewers to Ennui in a brief, comical bike ride through the city. This scene is only a sliver of the length of the stories that follow, but it serves an important function by orienting audiences to the film's setting. The audience is then transported within the walls of the local prison, where disturbed artist Moses Rosenthaler (Benicio Del Toro) becomes infamous for his abstract style. Next, Lucinda Krementz (Frances McDormand) follows a story about a teenage-led protest, especially its unofficial leader, played by Timothee Chalamet. Finally, the film closes with the tender tale of police-officer-slash-chef Lt. Nescaffier (Steve Park). Certainly the most labyrinthine, this story is also the most heart-warming. Its unexpected incorporation of animation may have been my favorite feature of the entire film.
Each author’s tone and personality is present in their narration, allowing the anecdotes to be stylistically distinct. Several themes appear consistently among the stories, but each one leaves viewers with a unique and varied sentiment. This feature is just one of the ways The French Dispatch transcends genre, blending elements of action, drama, romance, and coming-of-age.
In essentially every storyline, Anderson includes moments of violence, creating a theatrical display of gunshots and brawls. This trope is present in his other films, and once again, chaos is masterfully displayed as somehow innocent and nonsensical.
Like all of Anderson’s best works, word and image mingle to immerse viewers in the idiosyncratic narrative. Several other Wes Anderson hallmarks can be found in The French Dispatch — symmetry, typography, implausible love stories, hapless crime, Owen Wilson. It is Anderson’s style to a tee, and yet the film still offers up some originality among his other works.
The use of color, or lack thereof, is particularly intriguing. Rather than establishing a recognizable color palette, as he is prone to, Anderson leans heavily on black and white in The French Dispatch. Achromatic shots are punctuated occasionally with colorful ones that dazzle viewers and pique their attention. These moments of contrast serve several functions in the film, but prove especially useful in distinguishing between the published story and the present moment.
I could have happily stayed in the theater and watched The French Dispatch on loop for several hours. Between the narration, dialogue, erratic timelines, and introduction of characters, it was easy to miss those delightful Anderson-esque details. I’ll admit, The French Dispatch is a little convoluted. Its fractured structure means that there is not one huge arc across the entire film, but many small ones. The film was so speedily paced that I felt unable to invest myself deeply in any one character.
On the other hand, there is something new to be discovered in each re-watching of the film. As critic Richard Brody put it, “it’s necessary to see ‘The French Dispatch’ twice in order to see it fully even once.”
Each time I encounter Wes Anderson, I find myself enthralled by his style, liveliness, and humor. The newest addition to his repertoire fits comfortably among an already impressive archive. The French Dispatch is admirably attentive to detail, chock full of captivating characters, and devoid of a dull moment. If I was prone to clapping in movie theaters, The French Dispatch would have earned a standing ovation.