'The Grand Budapest Hotel' Review: Gustave Will See You Now
- Dan Bremner
- Jun 4
- 4 min read
By Dan Bremner - June 4, 2025
“Gustave H, a concierge who works at a famous European hotel, must prove his innocence when he is framed for a murder. In the process of doing so, he strikes up a great friendship with a lobby boy.”
Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel hit me like a pastel-coloured freight train on this rewatch, a glorious reminder of why I fell for his quirky shtick in the first place. After the snooze-fest of The French Dispatch and the outright infuriating Asteroid City (two films that made me think Anderson’s whimsy had curdled into self-parody) I was braced for disappointment. My last viewing in 2014 cemented this as my favorite of his works, but with my patience for his twee antics have worn razor-thin, I feared it’d feel obnoxious. Nope. This is a heartfelt, uproariously funny, and visually ravishing comedy that’s only grown richer with time, vaulting to my second-favourite Anderson, just a whisker behind The Fantastic Mr. Fox.
Odeon’s mini-Anderson retrospective, timed for The Phoenician Scheme’s release, was a godsend, especially since they ditched their usual unemployed-friendly midnight slots for civilized 5-6pm showings. I’d like to think the bean counters read my rants about their scheduling and caved, but either way, seeing Grand Budapest back on the big screen was pure magic. The cinema’s scale amplifies every meticulous frame, making me wonder why I don’t revisit this confection more often. It’s Wes Anderson at his peak: charming, sharp, and never tipping into the cloying excess that’s marred his recent output.
Ralph Fiennes' Comedic Performance for the Ages
Ralph Fiennes is on fire in this ensemble caper, delivering an MVP performance as Gustave H, the fastidious concierge framed for murder. His rapid-fire wit, balletic poise, and surprising tenderness make Gustave a character you’d follow to hell and back. Fiennes, usually a master of brooding intensity, unleashes a comedic verve that’s downright alchemical, every line, glance, and exasperated sigh is perfection. He’s flanked by Anderson’s usual rogue’s gallery, Willem Dafoe, Tilda Swinton, Jeff Goldblum, and more, but Fiennes steals the show, turning Gustave into a lovable scoundrel for the ages.
The script is Anderson’s sharpest, a masterclass in whip-smart dialogue and laugh-out-loud absurdity. It’s by far his funniest work, packed with quotable zingers and farcical twists that never feel forced. The story of a madcap chase involving a stolen painting, a prison break, and a fascist uprising zips along at a remarkable pace, balancing slapstick with a bittersweet undercurrent. Unlike the navel-gazing sprawl of The French Dispatch, every scene here pops with purpose, making its 100-minute runtime feel like a perfectly crafted treat.
Wes Anderson’s Signature Style at Its Peak
Anderson’s signature symmetry, paired with a luscious pastel palette of pinks, purples, and creams, turns every frame into a confectionary marvel, making for a visual feast for the eyes. The sets of the titular hotel, alpine chases, even a dingy prison are so meticulously crafted with miniatures added in they feel like dioramas you could step into. Robert Yeoman’s cinematography glides with balletic grace, while Alexandre Desplat’s sprightly score, ties it together with a bow. In cinema, the scale of this aesthetic precision is almost overwhelming, a reminder that Anderson’s style, when focused, is unmatched.
The ensemble is a treasure trove of memorable weirdos, each leaving a mark despite limited screen time. Tony Revolori’s Zero, the loyal lobby boy, brings a quiet heart to the chaos, his bond and loyalty to Gustave gives events a sincere heart. From Adrien Brody’s snarling villain to Saoirse Ronan’s plucky baker, every character feels vivid, like they stepped out of a storybook. Yet, for all its whimsical quirks, the film never veers into the grating self-indulgence of Asteroid City. It’s infinitely charming, wearing its eccentricity with personality rather than becoming obnoxiously self-indulgent.
What lingers most is the unexpected heart beneath the farce. Amid the zany prison breaks and ski chases, Grand Budapest weaves a poignant tale of friendship, loyalty, and a fading world, set against the shadow of war. It’s Anderson at his most human, balancing broad gags with a melancholy that Anderson can pull off with ease when he wants to. Compared to the era’s cookie-cutter comedies, this feels unique and whimsical while still retaining soul and plentiful humour that lands.
The Grand Budapest Hotel is Wes Anderson firing on all cylinders, a dazzling reminder of why his style can work and make for unique comedies with pathos and unique style. Fiennes’ tour-de-force comedic lead, a razor-sharp script, and a visual splendor that pops make this a comedy for the ages. If The Phoenician Scheme captures half this magic, I might forgive Anderson’s recent misfires. A real treat about friendship and loyalty this is, and I'm glad I revisited.
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