For the first quarter or so of Wes Anderson’s The Phoenician Scheme, it feels like the recently stagnant director might be shaking off the rust. The movie pops with electricity out of the gate.
But as the film plays out, the rewards diminish, and it becomes the third film in a row in which Anderson’s quirky visuals and monotone acting direction render his film pointless and boring.
Things start promising as wealthy businessman Zsa-zsa Korda (Benicio del Toro) narrowly escapes assassination via a bomb on a plane. The sequence has all the markings of Anderson at his best, with quick bursts of humor, funny visuals and great performances.
When Zsa-zsa meets up with his daughter, a nun named Liesi (Mia Threapleton), to discuss her inheritance—their relationship is at the center of the plot—the film remains funny and peculiar. But as the movie plays out, what starts as electric becomes more of a drone. Anderson’s insistence upon having his performers (especially Threapleton) deliver lines in a monotone becomes an irritant.
This monotone approach always been part of his films, but in the earlier years, it was more of a flavor than the dominant approach. Here, it takes over the movie, resulting in unfortunate flatness and, eventually, a bored audience. Anderson’s films used to feature style happily dancing hand-in-hand with substance; now, style overwhelms substance and ruins his movies.
It’s as if Anderson started saving money on music royalties and moved that budget to set designs. His films used to be filled with music by artists like David Bowie and Cat Stevens. Now his films have every visual nuance painstakingly created to the point of annoyance, but no fun with the music choices. (That’s not to take away from his film scores, which are usually fine.)
It’s a shame. It reminds me how Woody Allen’s films became “too Woody” rather than something new each time out. What was once charming with Anderson has become stultifying. It’s still nice to look at, but devoid of meaning, soul and enriching charm.
As a palette cleanser during this run of Anderson feature duds (this film, The French Dispatch and Asteroid City), I’ve been going back and watching his earlier triumphs like Bottle Rocket, Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums. Those films were rich with the Anderson quirks, but they also had real characters with real soul. I’ll add that The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Three More, a collection of short films he did recently for Netflix, were actually quite good. Maybe Anderson should stick to shorts.
Del Toro (who also starred in The French Dispatch) gives it his all, but in the end, his work is not memorable, and neither is the film. The film is full of marquee stars and cameos. Michael Cera is funny as a bug scientist taken along for the ride as a tutor, while Tom Hanks, Bryan Cranston and Riz Ahmed show up for a funny scene involving basketball.
In Anderson’s latest movies, the characters feel like cut-out paper dolls placed into a pretty terrarium. I find myself wishing he would strip himself of set-design budgets and get back to basics. Save the pristine visual approach for the excellent stop-motion animation films (Fantastic Mr. Fox, Isle of Dogs). Ironically, his stop motion animation films have emotional heft than his last few movies with actual humans in them.
With three dullards in a row, the Wes Anderson slump is officially a trend.