Filiberto Briceo Bours

90151

The Grand Budapest Hotel.

The start of Grand Hotel Budapest is exemplary, as we are accustomed good
director, but the story of seductive concierge octogenarians and ineffable
assistant Zero Moustafa, fraying among so just leave and narrative aesthetic
brackets. Renaissance theft box holding both a McGuffin for an exemplary
exercise style address. And, incidentally, chaining a flat carousel cameos,
including Bill Murray, published 30 seconds of rigor to put your face on the
poster.

Wes Anderson is a precious and there are few though. Each plane consists of a
canvas that film could well adorn any fireplace. The arrangement of the
elements is mathematical and reflects a taste for aesthetics while reaffirming a
very personal universe. Anderson, however, is a precious part of mannerist, and
just trying so hard to keep the pose just forgetting what I wanted to tell.
Prisoners makes the actors and avoca the face and the grotesque, forcing them
to always stay on the surface of the character, with little nuance or shift
register. For what? The camera and do the rest. But this time the camera is just
emotional action sequences that, where the director is shouting hoarse
references and tributes, always putting your personal taste to the coherence of
the story. And whenever it does, it moves further away from its initial position,
its characters and the viewer, creating a tete a tete in which, or you are on your
wave, or you are lost. I realize I'm outnumbered, I'm part of that minority who
divorced would be more comfortable seeing Anderson painting still lifes that
expressing emotions. And really enjoy because the director of Fantastic Mr.Fox
not lack talent.

After so many movies already clear to me the universe director, I know his
fetishes and phobias, I have well assimilated his style. But I keep hoping that
someday transcend, to go beyond that, for once, is closer to the truth of what he
wants to tell.