In the entry on Wes Anderson in The New Biographical Dictionary of Film (2004), British critic David Thomson said about the American filmmaker: “Watch this space. What does that mean? That he might be something someday.”
This brutal, terse dismissal came after such well-regarded films as The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004). The relentless whimsy, the meticulously designed and colour-coded sets that resemble dollhouses or model building kits, the grown-ups who behave like brilliant but emotionally stunted children, the gnomic humour – Anderson annoys some viewers but also has a loyal fan base.
His latest film is equally divisive.
The Phoenician Scheme is something of a return to form after the follies The French Dispatch (2021) and Asteroid City (2023). The new film isn’t at the level of Anderson’s superb The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014), but at least it’s grounded in something resembling the present.
In the 1950s, the industrialist Anatole Korda (Benicio del Toro) decides to pass on his fortune to his daughter, Liesl (Mia Threapleton), who is training to be a nun. Liesl does not cast aside her habit but nevertheless starts following her father as he tries to fund his ambitious Korda Land and Sea Phoenician Infrastructure Scheme.
The project claims to bring immense wealth to an underexploited region. Like the buccaneers before him and the Silicon Valley bros after him, Korda promises more than he can deliver. Underfunded and overleveraged – it is debatable what remains for Liesl to inherit – Korda charms an array of investors while dodging assassination attempts by his rivals.
Within the predictable quirkiness is a cautionary tale about Western conquerors setting off to conquer far-off lands about which they know little and care even less. The film ever-so glancingly addresses American-style expansionism, whose effects are ricocheting within the present-day boundaries of the place that Korda seeks to exploit.
The 105-minute confection is written by Anderson and based on a story by him and Roman Coppola. The packaging is typically impeccable: gorgeous production design by Adam Stockhausen, precise camerawork by Bruno Delbonnel, a charming score by Alexander Desplat. Korda’s up-down relationship with Liesl creates tension within the perfectly symmetrical sets, also giving the 105-minute film something of an emotional core, especially in its dying moments.
The cast has a staggering number of cameos, from Tom Hanks and Riz Ahmed to Scarlett Johansson and Benedict Cumberbatch. Michael Cera creates an impression as Korda’s mysterious secretary. The film belongs to a lovely Benicio del Toro, who has a solidity that weights Korda, a sense of enigma that makes him unpredictable and the sleekness that befits a man with nine lives.
The deceitful but also remorseful Korda’s wheeling-dealing pauses only to build bridges with his estranged daughter. Del Toro creates layers of depth in a film that gives the illusion of being something more than the sum of its neatly assembled parts.
