Wes Anderson’s films almost always appreciate a second viewing with their intricately layered details and meticulous design. This is, of course, the case with her latest book, The French Dispatcher. A shining star photo of a handbag that takes the starting point of the latest issue of the magazine.
That adds-on to the fictional Kansas Evening Sun. But considering that when I first watched it. I found it to be one of the most exciting films I’ve ever seen. The original footage is inferior to some of Anderson’s other take-offs.
Problems with the anthology structure:
The film consists of three separate stories, each based on a feature article by one of the magazine’s stars writers. As well as a brief travel account of the filming locations that delve into the ugly.
Almost inevitable corners of the town of Ennis-sur-Blaze-e. Equally And it’s just as interesting as the film’s final story. The most satisfying, with significant differences. The food review has become a thief thriller, told in its softest and most captivating form with Jeffrey Wright – the segment tests patience before it.
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This is a student protest story with Francis McDormand as a reporter for Ace Lucinda Kremenz and Timothy Shalame as Zephyrelli, the wild-haired chess-playing student leader who irritates Gaulois.
He says something about Anderson’s tightly sealed privilege of being able to take something as sincere as disagreement and present it in a colour palette made entirely of sweet pastels and charming kitsch while avoiding the slightest bit of politics. Elsewhere, however, there is still something to admire.
The first part, a portrait of a deranged criminal artist (Benicio del Toro), is a sly treat. Not least because Tilda Swinton narrates it as an art correspondent for JKL Berendsen. An extravagantly glamorous creature with boy’s teeth, tangerine evening gowns and gowns. Annoying, embarrassing past.
The travel log – a motorcycle trip to the dark side with Owen Wilson picking up pickpockets, floating corpses, and a rebel chorus – has a bold ferocity that goes against the film’s self-assuredly captivating aesthetic. And Anderson’s backdrop, a sort of steroid-enriched France reminiscent of films like Belleville Rendez-Vous and Amélie, is simply beautiful when ultimately as far from reality as film journalism’s romanticism is.
The French delivery seems to have been formulated in the laboratory according to my preference for stories.
Ennui-sur-Blasé not only advocates an imaginary version of Paris as imagined by Francophile Americans, it still exists in some corners of this historic city, a little dark but also very funny.
That said, the entire film pays homage to the kind of literary magazine so many writers in my dream year worked for. Most notably, the New Yorker, whose famous editors and writers such as Mavis Galant, Harold Ross and James Baldwin modelled for a number of the characters in the film.
While there are some apparent differences between the French Freedom Sending, Kansas Evening Sun, and New Yorker — the latter of which has entered the new millennium, among other things — Anderson’s status as a New Yorker fanatic was clear from the start.
He has loved publishing since his youth and has owned almost every issue since the 1940s. In an interview with the magazine itself, Anderson said that as an adult, “I’ve read stories from various writers about life in New York — Brendan Gill, James Turber, Ben Strawberry — and I’ve been caught up in the aura of that thing. .” He even worked on compiling a book with several articles from the magazine archives that inspired the film.
Stan Anderson at the New Yorker was started by Arthur Howitzer Jr. (Bill Murray), successor to the owner of the Kansas Evening Sun.
Who more or less pioneered the publication of the “little-read Sunday supplement” to this article for five decades. He was sent to Ennui-sur-Blasé as a young man in 1925 and ended his term when he died in 1975. After that, of course, the French operator paid his well-paid writer’s excellent bonuses.
Nearly 50 years into the future. Those of us who write on paper for magazines and otherwise can only dream of such a life.
Its employees include well-known journalists such as Lucinda Kremenz (Francis McDormand), J.K.L. Berendsen (Tilda Swinton), Herbsant Sazerak (Owen Wilson) and Robak Wright (Jeffrey Wright). They write about art and history, food and culture, protest and poetry.
After revealing to his audience that the howitzers will die at the end of the film. The French control room moves back slightly to see the howitzers roughly guide them through the editing process. There’s a strict “No Cry” sign above his office door.
Asking about their expense reports and how. their prose is composed. Based on a mix of New York editor-in-chief Harold Ross and his successor William Sean, Howitz is the sort of handy editor you don’t come across much anymore. When he died, the film tells us, he got “a funeral for an editor”.