“The French Dispatch” prioritizes style, art

What at first glance appears to be a highly stylistic, deeply personal and treasured ode to a discontinued newspaper, “The French Dispatch” falls slightly short of its expectations.

Wes Anderson’s new 2021 launch is what indie kids would call a “film” instead of a movie. In five years, its poster will be framed right next to their copies of “Pulp Fiction”—I’m calling it now.

Simply put, the film is a celebration of journalism.

It centers around the final issue of “The French Dispatch,” a fictional town’s newspaper.

With three feature stories and a poetry travelogue, the famed writers of “The French Dispatch” attempt to capture the edges of society via a mad artist, a group of teen rebels and a local chef.

This is not a piece of cinema that is easily digestible by any means. It demands constant attention, an appreciation of detail and a definite use of subtitles due to its intelligent but fast-paced dialogue.

However, this is not to say the film isn’t charming. Its gorgeous cinematography shows effort in every shot; if you pause it at any time, the frame could be sold for money and hung up in houses.

The mixture of black-and-white and color videography adds dimension to its timeless distinction, and the isolation of characters within shots deepens their individuality.

Wes Anderson is known for his aesthetics and his symmetry, both of which come screaming through in each frame—enough so that “The French Dispatch” has been called the most Wes Anderson film ever made.

Just as well, all the actors are well-cast in their parts. Owen Wilson is very enjoyable as poet Herbsaint Sazerac, as is Frances McDormand as the coldhearted writer Lucinda Krementz. Benicio del Toro as a crooked artist is a standout for sure. And of course, 26-year-old star Timothée Chalamet always kills in his roles, though his talents are better showcased in other films, notably “Beautiful Boy.”

In regards to the stories themselves, I enjoyed the first one, “The Concrete Masterpiece,” the most. There’s something about its combination of tortured artist, unrequited love and defiance to commodification that makes it remarkable.

The other two stories, “Revisions of a Manifesto” and “The Private Dining Room of a Police Commissioner,” were less entertaining and harder to follow.

Overall, the trailer alone is enough to attract art lovers, cinematography geeks and anyone who appreciates the work behind a beautiful frame.

Yet, it’s a film where its substance lies in style, not in its plot. From the tinkering piano soundtrack, haunting and ethereal, to its offbeat, mildly humorous narration, “The French Dispatch” is a lesson in art rather than humanity—but it’s still a masterpiece of a lesson.

While at times I wished for more heart, with something so unequivocal, I want to appreciate it for what it is rather than critique it for what it’s not.

To wish it to be something else would be to diminish the things about it that make it distinct.

I praise Wes Anderson for his creativity, visually in which he delivers the highest caliber.

“The French Dispatch” didn’t always entertain me, but it always stunned me—and for that, I will give it a three out of five stars.