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The Grand Budapest Hotel 

Girl with popcorn rates boy with apple

click to enlarge grand-budapest-hotel-fiennes-revolori.jpg

Oh the capering that abounds across Europe in Wes Anderson’s latest fairytale for adults, The Wartime Nose-Punchings. As usual, it’s beautifully set-designed, impeccably scored and acted with all the emotion of Hannibal Lecter on a bender. Ralph Fiennes is the best thing by a Kropog as Gustave H., the elder-lovin’ concierge at the Grand Budapest Hotel, a fancy place where the rich love to party. He’s left a painting by one such loving elder (Tilda Swinton, one of three lady speaking parts in the whole movie—We Need to Talk About Wes), to the chagrin of his family (Adrien Brody) and a bunch of people (Willem Dafoe, Edward Norton) chasing him across Europe for various reasons. At this point, you’re in or you’re out. If Miranda July or Sofia Coppola directed this movie it would be dismissed as twee piffle. Instead there’s a line down Quinpool Road every night.

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