“The Zero Theorem” – the epitome of self-indulgence

The film opens with a long shot of space with some kind of black hole swallowing a galaxy in the very centre of the frame. The camera then slowly zooms out to reveal that what we’re looking at is a computer screen, in front of which sits naked and hairless Christoph Waltz. He’s not moving nor is he doing anything other than gripping a wireless controller, which looks like a re-appropriated toy. Having quickly scanned the background of that wide-angle take, I notice he’s sitting in a rundown church surrounded by a mess of steampunk-esque knick-knacks. And he just sits there looking at stars being eaten by darkness. And by that time, my suspicions as to what was to come were at an all-time high.

“The Grand Budapest Hotel” – Magnificent, Hilarious, Bizarre…

I believe the most common adjective employed to describe the film-making style of Wes Anderson’s would be quirky, or idiosyncratic. And it’s all fine with me, but I personally would go a step further and call it for what it is – mildly autistic. It’s not necessarily an indictment on my part, but rather a simple observation. Now, I am definitely not a world-renowned expert in Wes Anderson’s work, as only recently I have started colouring in the blank spot that was his filmography, but I am most assuredly a fan of his approach toward comedy. Contrary to what you’d usually see on the big screen nowadays, Wes Anderson’s films are always intellectually stimulating, visually rich, stylistically sound, meticulously shot and executed, (maybe not quite laugh-out-loud) funny, but subversive and filled with unforgettable dialogue. In that, “The Grand Budapest Hotel” – Anderson’s newest creation – is no different and quite cohesively positions itself within his entire body of work.