Wes Anderson is a singular director of many acclaimed films such as The Royal Tenenbaums and The Grand Budapest Hotel. His distinctive style is certainly not lost in his latest work.

A 103 minute whimsical rollercoaster peppered with moments of acerbic wit and poignant clarity. Wes Anderson's much anticipated comedy-drama anthology film, The French Dispatch depicts a collection of vignettes posed as articles in the fictional publication of The French Dispatch. Divided into roughly three sections, all based within the dollhouse-esque, imagined French village of Ennui-Sur-Blase, each tale offers a complex inquiry into the human condition and pays homage to the diligent work of journalists.

The film has a beautifully refined musical score that seamlessly blends with the atmosphere invoked in the action of the narrative. My particular fascination lies in the masterful characterisation of each and every key figure in the film. Costume, makeup and hair, I'm talking about you Chalamét, perfectly executed in the zany style of the film.

The first chapter, 'The Concrete Masterpiece' depicts the prisoner and artist Moses Rosenthaler who experiences unexpected acclaim eleven years into his sentence, meandering through themes of authenticity, liberty, snobbery and the plight of a tortured artist, this miniature tale comments on the co-opting of art and the often amusing misunderstandings between an artist and the perceiver as well as how beauty can be found in the most unlikely of places. This vignette plants us firmly in Anderson's world echoing the prison scenes of The Grand Budapest Hotel but also vastly adapting the presentation to create one that is particularly Dispatchian. Prepare for settings to become weirder and wackier from hereon in. 

The tone shifts in the second article 'Revisions To A Manifesto', diminishing in it's reflective tone and opting for a theatrical, action-driven narrative. A student protest breaks out in Ennui dubbed the 'Chessboard Revolution', student Zeffirelli attempts to write a manifesto whilst having a brief fling with the journalist writing the piece, I gleaned the impression that this manifesto was largely utopian and failing that, entirely vacuous. Indeed, there is a sense that these student protests are without a specific qualm, merely an embodiment of the propensity of the young to operationalise their angst in order to aspire to an unrealistic world of peace and love whist simultaneously acting completely egotistically. Is this somewhat in poor taste with the rise of climate protest and Black Lives Matter? Is Anderson inadvertently suggesting that these are egotistical and shallow? Personally, I doubt it. This world Anderson has created is very clearly removed from our own and to draw a political message directly would be to largely miss the point of the film in its entirety. I doubt this small section of the film is likely to cause much of a stir.

The third mini-episode 'The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner' serves as a life-affirming, French thriller style romp through the village with spectacular zest and a thoughtful pastiche through the character Roebuck Wright, a gay man of colour, to the formidable James Baldwin. In this final instalment, we undergo the most spectacular illustrated car chase, mirroring the art style of Hergé and explore the gang-ridden underworld of Ennui with weird and wacky characters that Anderson tenderly humanises.

It goes without saying that in true Andersonian fashion, he and his staple cinematographer Robert Yeoman created an unparalleled visual experience of bright colours shot through with classic black and white shots, an ode to New Wave cinema. the cinematography of this film is perhaps, the director's most inventive yet as it switches from movement to tableau Vivint, live action to animation, from black and white to colour. Thus, some critics have argued it is an almost painful parody of Anderson's cinematic style, an intense 103-minute blast of sights and sounds to which the mind boggles. With shots changing abruptly within a manner of seconds and dialogue sometimes so fast paced that I struggled to even comprehend the word's meaning, it is not one to watch with a migraine. To an extent, I understand these critiques, at moments I felt that with the pace of the dialogue with such intricate language, description and references layered on top of the visual references and intricacies, at times it was an onslaught. But one worth enduring, I think. I still found the beauty awe-inspiring, such as the sheer marvel of Saoirse Ronan's supposedly shallow and seedy character's sparkling blue eyes appearing after a significant period of black and white to create a moment of complete human connection amidst the chaos of the final vignette, reminding us that despite social boundaries, each character is just as vulnerable and complex as the other. 

Despite my qualms, I was quite delighted by the overall spectacle.