The Delights of Wes Anderson’s ‘The French Dispatch’

There are few, if any, modern filmmakers with a more immediately distinctive style and modus operandi than Wes Anderson. Each of his films is marked by an array of signatures that are impossible to mistake for anyone else’s work—perfectly symmetrical frames, bright pastel colors, quirky and offbeat humor, large ensembles of A-list actors, and an undercurrent of emotional pathos. Even when switching to animation, as in Fantastic Mr. Fox and Isle of Dogs, all of his trademarks are still at the forefront. Anderson’s latest, The French Dispatch, is certainly no exception; in fact, it might be the purest distillation of Anderson’s style thus far. His signatures are not only present in spades, but they’re turned up to the max. As a result, it’s produced a somewhat more mixed response than much of his previous work; the unanimous acclaim of films like Rushmore, The Grand Budapest Hotel, and The Royal Tenenbaums (my favorite of his) has turned into slight skepticism and alienation for some. It’s understandable that Anderson’s approach here might turn some off. But for me, it worked wonders.

The film follows the titular fictional magazine in a fictional town in France (called Ennui), and it’s structured in an anthology format, with the story essentially unfolding like an issue of the magazine (which is an obvious stand-in for The New Yorker). It kicks off with a travelogue, as a reporter (Owen Wilson) tours the city on a bicycle, speaking directly into the camera about the history of the fictional city. It’s a short, delightful segment, with some great sight gags and a charming performance from Wilson. Then there’s the first article, titled “The Concrete Masterpiece”, which is framed through a lecture at an art gallery by a Dispatch reporter (Tilda Swinton). The article centers on a painter (Benicio del Toro) serving a life sentence for homicide, who paints an abstract portrait of a prison guard (Léa Seydoux) who’s also his muse. Adrien Brody plays an art dealer, also serving time for tax evasion. Next, the second article—“Revisions to a Manifesto”—follows a Dispatch writer (Frances McDormand, wonderful as always) who profiles a young revolutionary (Timothée Chalamet), in what’s clearly a fictionalized version of the real-life 1968 student protests in Paris. Finally, the third article, “The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner” (my favorite of the bunch), focuses on a journalist (Jeffrey Wright) who attempts to profile a renowned chef who cooks for the local police department, only for things to become complicated when the commissioner’s son is kidnapped. Between (and sometimes even during) each story, there are interludes set at the Dispatch office, with the editor-in-chief (Bill Murray) giving feedback to the writers.

It all sounds like a lot to take in, and it certainly is. But part of the magic of The French Dispatch is how effortlessly and fluidly the narrative unfolds. Anderson keeps the film moving at a frenetic and invigorating pace, throwing everything at the wall stylistically; it shifts back and forth between black-and-white and color, between widescreen and 4:3, and between live-action and animation. It’s almost as if Anderson is daring the audience to keep up with what he’s throwing at them, and I found it to be never anything less than thrilling to watch. There’s a precision with which the nesting-doll structure unravels that prevents the whole affair from coming apart at the seams; there are stories within stories, scenes within scenes, and yet it all feels like a complete and cohesive whole by the end.

Part of that cohesion comes in how The French Dispatch is more than just its stylistic wizardry and formal experimentation (although it would still be great even if it were just that). At its core, it’s a love letter not just to journalism, but to the creative process writ large; it’s about expressing oneself creatively through writing, art, travel, literature, food, etc. This is highlighted not only in the expansive mosaic of characters, but even in Anderson’s filmmaking itself; watching it, one gets a sense of the meticulous amount of effort that went into crafting this tapestry, and the dizzying display of creativity flowing through every scene. It’s a remarkable film, and a high watermark of both Anderson’s excellent career and the year of 2021.