The Grand Budapest Hotel2014

“The beginning of the end of the end of the beginning has begun. A sad finale played off-key on a broken-down saloon piano in the outskirts of a forgotten ghost town. I'd rather not bear witness to such blasphemy.” I had nearly forgotten how incredible, how beyond perfection, this movie truly is. This is without a doubt the climax and ultimate triumph of Wes Anderson’s career. The amount of love, joy, and bitter hopefulness that emanates from the film is as heady and intoxicating as L'air de Panache.  I feel an utter fool for not loving this film enough, and I will take painstaking steps to ensure it never happens again. This truly could be the greatest film ever made. And we must take as much care in watching as was taken in making it.  “There are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity... He was one of them. What more is there to say?” Never for granted can we, the purveyors and perusers of art, take such a monumental work. We must be adamant in our adoration and disciplined in its appreciation, lest the idle masses win out in their ever-increasing crusade against beauty and creativity. We are simply the last stockade against a tirade of ultimately inconsequential yet increasingly tyrannical mob of simple-minded, morose, minutia  muddled middlemen in a modern malaise of melancholia, armed and apt to take, deviate, and destroy all things that are truly lovely in this world.  I implore all those who read this to not just enjoy but consume this film. We must partake of its visual feast and ingest and digest it with vigour.  We must engorge on its heart and let it fill us with its delectable, sorrowful, optimism.  Let the glimmer and gleam never fade from your eyes.  “To be frank, I think his world had vanished long before he ever entered it. But I will say, he certainly sustained the illusion with a marvelous grace.”