I absolutely love Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel, but it was a definite challenge to like this book…Granted, this is the only one of his films I actually enjoy, but I figured that a book lauding the film would be equal parts celebration and analysis that would bring a greater understanding and appreciation for The Grand Budapest Hotel. While it is clear that the author of the book has a huge knowledge of film in general and a specific adoration of Anderson’s work, the generality of his love for everything Wes Anderson is what ended up losing my interest. The majority of the book consists of three long-form interviews where the author waxes eloquent and Anderson gets in the occasional word. Their camaraderie is palpable, and generally easily read, but for a reader who has long grown bored of hearing hipster-esque men talk at length about their obnoxiously niche interests the conversation quickly becomes tiresome as we get into the later of the three interviews. Speckled throughout their conversations are little hints at the greater themes and aesthetics of the film, but when surrounded by the greater conversation it becomes a quest to even find the gems. The remainder of the text contains short expository essays by noted film and culture critics and interviews with others deeply involved in making the film, which I honestly found a lot more palatable and enjoyable to read. The author backs off from soliloquizing his interview “questions” in these conversations, allowing the interviewees to share their (far more) expert knowledge in a more expected interview format. The essays about costuming, film music, production design, and historical nostalgia are also deeply appealing in their presentation of different narratives, careful writing style, and overall depth of knowledge. If the book had been confined to this more removed perspective than one hyper-focusing on Anderson himself, I think it would have been a much stronger and more approachable read. Sure, it would have fallen closer in line to what is expected in a typical film book, but The Grand Budapest Hotel is maybe not a film for the typical Anderson-ian fan. ( )

(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted illegally.)

Up to very recently, I have to admit that the twee antics of filmmaker Wes Anderson were starting to wear dangerously thin with me, exemplified in the overly precious, simultaneously empty and heavy-handed Moonrise Kingdom from 2012; ah, but then Anderson released the astounding Grand Budapest Hotel two years later, a masterpiece of artificiality with the kind of dark undertones and grand scope that he's so desperately needed in his career to cut through the hipster treacle, a story that was not by coincidence directly inspired by and a loving homage to the obscure anti-Nazi Vienna intellectual Stephan Zweig, whose most famous works all have to do with how World War Two essentially ruined everything great about Europe for good. And for those like me who ended up forming a bit of an obsession over this endlessly inventive movie, you'll definitely want to pick up the companion book put together with the filmmaker's participation (written and edited by the Pulitzer-nominated film critic Matt Zoller Seitz); an overstuffed, oversized coffee table tome, it covers literally every single aspect of this complicated production, from an analytical look at Zweig's writing to hundreds of behind-the-scenes photos from the sets themselves, before-and-after shots of various CG effects, the original drawings from the costume designers, and a lot more. I'm not usually a fan of these expensive "official companion" volumes of Hollywood movies, but Grand Budapest Hotel is simply too big and too impressive a project to pass this one by, a gorgeous volume that's worth every penny.

Out of 10: 9.7 ( )

Through a series of interviews, short essays and excerpts, Seitz brings together a collage of the sources, inspiration, and methods used to create the film The Grand Budapest Hotel. As in real life, the film mixes up tragic and comic elements. The mood is one of a lost world, but how grand to actually have something you would regret losing, even if it is an imagined civilization. How is this beautiful world and its loss brought to the screen? Seitz explains technical details, such as adapting narrative devices from Stefan Zweig's fiction to the big screen. In fact he revels in details such as sourcing the facecloth used in the costumes, or aspect ratios. And he provides lots of information about locations and sets. While Anderson in his interviews speaks freely about complex logistics, he is unwilling to name the real-life inspiration for Gustave himself, just that there is one. I also found the interview with Fiennes charming but rather opaque; he's like a magician who doesn't want to reveal his tricks. Seitz compensates for these gaps by placing the GBH in the context of film history, referencing influences on Anderson from Ernst Lubitsch to Stanley Kubrick and on to Werner Herzog. One real joy is the interview with composer Alexandre Desplat, who is able to articulate the way the music is composed to support to shifting moods in the film. There are excerpts from Zweig's writings, but they are best read in their entirety. As one would expect from a publisher as visually savvy as Abrams, the color plates are stunning, providing a chance to notice fine touches that go by too fast on the screen to properly appreciate. There are stills from the sets used in filming, all arranged on the page to seduce the eye with the contrast between illusion and how it is created, like the wizard of oz. ( )