Are Wes Anderson’s films loved because of the way they look or because of the stories they tell? There are arguments to be made for both parties, though it is no doubt his aesthetic that has garnered the most attention in recent years. Accidentally Wes Anderson, an Instagram turned book turned art exhibition, for instance, groups a series of images taken all around the world of locations that resemble the director’s trademark pastel colours, old-fashioned, quaint settings, and symmetrical windows. Last year, a trend circulated on social media as influencers and cinema lovers alike filmed days in their lives in his style to the theme of The French Dispatch. There is, of course, something to be said about his deeply complex characters as well, usually happy-sad members of society, usually played by Anderson’s web of regular collaborators, including the likes of Owen Wilson, Bill Murray and Frances McDormand. Nevertheless, it stands that many of his films significantly lack in plot – does he bank on the aestheticism of his mise-en-scene too much? Perhaps a little. Is he still fascinating? Certainly.
Perhaps what makes Anderson and his films so inviting is that, for those who are privy to minutiae, his world is like walking into a particularly good flea market. There are finds everywhere, a beautiful hat, some mosaic tiles for the bathroom, old photographs of strangers, notebooks with dates and names marked on the front page – and The Phoenician Scheme is no different. Benicio del Toro is Zsa-Zsa Korda, an influential businessman (or arms dealer, rather) who, after another plane crash in a series of assassination attempts, hands over all of his affairs on a trial basis to his daughter Liesl (Mia Threapleton), an aspiring nun. He then enlists both her and his new entomologist tutor turned administrative assistant, Bjørn (Michael Cera), to visit each investor currently signed up to his new scheme, of said Phoenician nature. The scheme itself is a little unclear, as is custom in Anderson films, focused instead on character relationships and journey – but in his latest’s case, the latter more than makes up for the plot’s blurriness. What guides most of Anderson’s films is travel – in Moonrise Kingdom, Suzy and Sam run away together; in The Darjeeling Limited, three brothers traverse India in search of their father. Even in The French Dispatch, there is a sense of movement, from one point to the next – people bike, take the train, try a new hobby, evade their parents or, in Zsa-Zsa and crew’s case, hop from one investor to the next, convincing them to bridge “The Gap” – the missing money for his scheme to be successful – tallying up the percentages by the end of each “mini story”. It is almost like a video game, or a puzzle that must be taken apart.
Performances are as always in tip top shape, with Cera as the standout – he and Anderson must be two peas in a pod. Threapleton is also excellent, stony-faced in a world of men, while del Toro offers up a strangely mediative presence. Funny and at times deeply moving, The Phoenician Scheme is not so much about Zsa-Zsa’s complots, but his budding relationship with his daughter. It’s truly exciting to watch them grow closer in their bizarre way, and it’s a storyline that del Toro and Threapleton take on with gusto and sensitivity – the final scene, away from the Phoenician mess, is no doubt the highlight of the entire film. Upon leaving the cinema, there’s a sense that Anderson’s latest is a forgettable piece of art despite its appeal in the moment – a feast to the eyes, but not to the memory. But a little later down the line, snippets of it resurface. Zsa-Zsa and his investors all quarrel, except for with Cousin Hilda (Scarlett Johansson). A commentary on toxic masculinity? Perhaps a bit of an overstatement for Anderson’s work which never preoccupies itself with anything political besides the ongoing commentary about human nature, existing in a timeless setting of endless beauty. Indeed, while everything relies so heavily on the characters, it is often that, in Anderson fashion, their blank and mechanical natures often goes against true emotional connection. Nevertheless, Zsa-Zsa stops in his tracks, frames his interlocutor: “let’s communicate,” he says. And so they calm themselves. It’s easy to forget about such sequences, batting them off in what is quite a lot of unseriousness – until you find yourself jokingly repeating them the next day, and the day after that. Flea market, art exhibition, puzzle – whichever it is then, perhaps it isn’t just Anderson’s aesthetic that is memorable after all.
