Wes Anderson is back, armed with a gigantic cast and the idiosyncrasies that have made him one of the most distinctive voices working in cinema today. The French Dispatch, a fictional Kansas newspaper very much inspired by The New Yorker, is described as "a love letter to journalists" and features a starry ensemble of both regular Anderson contributors and newer faces to his shapely dream world.
Planning a memorial issue of The French Dispatch, three writers preparing their best stories from the last decade: an artist facing life imprisonment, student riots, and a kidnapping resolved by a chef. Bill Murray, Benicio Del Toro, Frances McDormand, Jeffery Wright, Adrien Brody, Tilda Swinton, Timothee Chalamet and Lea Seydoux are an assortment of talent on display in Anderson's tenth feature film.
With a decidedly episodic and somewhat indulgent approach, The French Dispatch is Wes Anderson at his most Wes Anderson. A safe bet for fans of the visionary director, in all of its symmetrical, colourful glory, The French Dispatch is as painstakingly detailed and lovingly crafted as we have come to expect from the quirky director, retaining the distinctive visual and narrative style that continues to be a joy. Once again a collaboration with production designer Adam Stockhausen, the pair (supported by a brilliant art and costume department) conjures up a magical, meticulous, pastel-painted landscape. Tied sonically together with a terrific score, the film's whimsical spirit flows through Alexandre Desplat's perfectly pitched composition.
As with any form of media, anthology or otherwise, the chaptered structure can lead to unevenness, and Anderson, unfortunately, fails to escape it here. Interest faulters across the three different stories, all with their own ups and downs: starting with its strongest chapter, 'The Concrete Masterpiece' is a moving story about artistry and worth, peppered with eccentric humour and featuring a scene-stealing Tilda Swinton, who becomes the entire film's MVP as a result; Frances McDormand and Timothee Chalamet both shine in the 'Revisions of a Manifesto', perhaps the least thematically interesting entry of the bunch but infused with enough anarchic energy to maintain your interest; and Jeffery Wright holds together 'The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner', which never hits the satisfying highs it could and frustratingly cuts to animation in a key moment, but with physical humour that amuses. It certainly feels longer than its 103-minute runtime would suggest, yet it is undoubtedly a beautiful world to be stuck in.
At its heart, a loving tribute to the power of the written word, The French Dispatch is an, at times delightful, often indulgent, passion project which plays to Wes Anderson's strengths but rarely pushes or challenges them. With a wonderfully energetic ensemble that propels it through its episodic inconsistency, and the beautifully detailed visuals we have come to expect, The French Dispatch will entertain viewers with a pre-established penchant for the Anderson brand but is unlikely to change the hearts or minds of those less impressed by his repertoire.