'The French Dispatch' film review: The 'Wes Anderson' tone at its most insufferable & off-putting
Someone has created a gross parody of every Wes Anderson idiosyncrasy with the aggressively quirky comedic drama 'The French Dispatch' (in select theaters Oct. 22) ... which was written and directed by (checks notes) ... Wes Anderson.
In short: An anthology of stories published in the eponymous The French Dispatch, based in the fictional French city of Ennui. Tilda Swinton, Benicio del Toro, Jeffrey Wright, Frances McDormand, Timothée Chalamet and Bill Murray star.
Wes Anderson's early works - specifically 'Bottle Rocket' and 'Rushmore' - were grounded, human stories rooted firmly in their characters but told in Anderson's unique voice. And each subsequent Wes Anderson film has gradually ratcheted up the Wes Anderson quirk little by little. And now, 10 films into the Wes Anderson filmography, the result is a film where the filmmaker's distinct style has eclipsed every other facet of 'The French Dispatch' to the point of becoming overbearing and off-putting.
'Dispatch' is set in the fictional French city of Ennui - literally the French word for boredom or listlessness. Every Wes Anderson film can be described as having an undercurrent of ennui. What, was 'Malaise' - a literal synonym for ennui also of French etymology - just too "nail on the head"? If Anderson made 'Rushmore' today, it would be set at a private school called the Privilege Academy in the town of Disaffected. And ennui is ironically the perfect summation of 'Dispatch' as a whole - a boring tapestry of unrelated, listless vignettes dependent on bombastic plot drivers (civil unrest or kidnapping) to obscure cloying attempts at charm that make the film feel monotonously long, despite its relatively short 1 hour, 48 minute runtime.
The film upfront tells the audience how 'Dispatch' is organized: three Dispatch articles brought to life bookended by a fourth story, the obituary for the Dispatch's editor and founder (played by Murray), whose character is basically defined by his editorial philosophy of "try to make it sound like you wrote it that way on purpose." Everything else about the editor is pure exposition: how he can to found the Dispatch and how he managed his motley crew of journalists. It's eloquently worded exposition - but exposition all the same. The third vignette literally just has the article writer reciting his Dispatch story - recounting a kidnapping - word for word from memory.
To the film's credit, each vignette has a fleeting moment of touching humanity - but this is little payoff considering the amount of pointless quirk the audience must endure to find a small nugget of sincere melancholy. And, as if trying to distract with the film's lack of compelling drama, 'Dispatch' is a beautifully crafted and striking film. If only Anderson put as much care into his characters as he did with his interstitial miniatures, then 'Dispatch' would be a masterpiece. But 'Dispatch' is Anderson putting his style over any substance. With the exception of Wright and Chalamet (who seem to be the only two actors doing any sort of acting) every other character moves and sounds flat, unenthusiastic and mechanical. They are not dimensional characters conversing with each other - they are merely "characters" talking words at other "characters." Oh, and extra deductions for Anderson utterly wasting the talents of Henry Winkler and Bob Balaban - whose only contribution to 'Dispatch' is to appear in a handful of scenes with a frown. And squandering Bob Balaban in any capacity is nigh unforgiveable.
The appeal of 'Dispatch' entirely relies upon the viewer's investment in the hand-crafted charm of a Wes Anderson film - but this film is Anderson at his least disciplined or least restrained. The film is alleged a tip of the hat to journalism and France, yet, somehow 'Dispatch' comes off as a clowning of both reporters and the French. It's transparently obvious Anderson read a few issues of The New Yorker and lived in France just long enough to try to make a film that harkens back to Sunday magazine prose and old France. 'Dispatch' doesn't treat the French people as people - they're treated as thin caricatures. This film is merely a "beret-wearing mime carrying a baguette with a cigarette dangling from his mouth while riding a bicycle and reading Proust" away from being a fully committed send-up of the French. The film wants to say something about the nature of journalists, the fallacy of objectivity and their connection to the stories they write about - but 'Dispatch' never fully realizes the heart of this concept. The end product is three accounts of events ... and just limp toward uneventful resolutions.
Final verdict: 'The French Dispatch' answers the question 'How much Wes Anderson is too much Wes Anderson?' Those who love Anderson's trademark stylized, fanciful touch and don't care at all for dimensional human characters will love this film.
Score: 2/5
'The French Dispatch' opens in select cities Oct. 22 and opens nationwide Oct. 29. This comedic drama has a runtime of 108 minutes is rated R for graphic nudity, some sexual references and language.
