‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’

A re-telling of Austrian author Stefan Zweig’s writings, wrapped inside of a vibrant, colorful homage to a wide array of classic films, particularly early screwball comedies of the 1930s and ‘40s, “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is the funniest movie I’ve seen this year, and easily the most assured, fully realized and entertaining work writer/director Wes Anderson (“The Fantastic Mr. Fox,” “Moonrise Kingdom”) has done.

Highly stylized and charming to no end, the film is framed within multiple time periods. Anderson first shows us the eponymous hotel long past its prime (the 1960s), when a writer (Jude Law) visits it and meets the owner, Zero Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham). Mustapha offers to tell the writer the story of his involvement with the Grand Budapest in its prime (the 1930s), when Monsieur Gustave H. (Ralph Fiennes) ran the elegant, prominent hotel as its concierge.

Mustapha’s story to the writer makes up the core of the film. Young Zero (Tony Revolori) begins at the hotel as a lobby boy under the tutelage of M. Gustave H., whose affairs with wealthy elderly women lead him directly into the murder investigation of one of his former lovers, Madame Céline Villeneuve Desgoffe und Taxis (Tilda Swinton) — Madame C.V.D.u.T. for short. Madame D. for shorter.

The investigation of her murder under mysterious circumstances allows Anderson to roll out a truly impressive ensemble cast of actors, most of whom have become Anderson regulars through the years. There’s Madame D’s moustache-twirling evil son, Dmitri (Adrian Brody), her estate attorney, Deputy Kovaks (Jeff Goldblum), a young pastry chef named Agatha (Saoirse Ronan), a benevolent police inspector (Edward Norton) and a not-so-benevolent assassin (Willem Dafoe).

Too deep a description of the story is an exercise in futility, as it would do the film an injustice. “The Grand Budapest Hotel” must be experienced. It must be seen and heard, felt and tasted. It engages all of the senses and rewards multiple viewings.

From his frequent use of miniatures to the exaggerated yet nuanced behavior of his characters, Anderson’s films exude an air of self-aware artificiality and playacting, and when familiar faces continue to pop up, it feels like a nudge and a wink every time.

But this should not suggest a lack of humanity within the playful fantasy of Anderson’s world. Like many of the most interesting filmmakers working today, he tells stories that possess the power to enrich our perspective of the world. While immersed in his reality, we are able to better understand our own, and with “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” he has opened yet another window through which we can gaze in wonder.

★★★★ (out of four)