'The French Dispatch' is a love letter to 'The New Yorker' — and to love itself
Wes Anderson's meticulously-constructed tenth feature adopts the format of a New Yorker-like Sunday magazine supplement to tell three very different, but equally idiosyncratic, love stories.
by Glen Weldon
Oct 20, 2021
4 minutes
The French Dispatch is Wes Anderson's tenth feature film.
This means, even before the lights go down in the theater, you know two things about it already, and for certain:
Thing One: It will be meticulously, painstakingly constructed. A rigorous attention to detail and an exacting eye for a highly defined personal aesthetic will come baked into its every frame, from the set design to the cinematography to its color palette(s) to its dialogue to its performances. Also,
Anderson's films are all about artifice, about the theater of it all. He wants us to remain fully aware that we are watching his movies, to make us complicit in the act of observing. Know, for example, that contains a sequence
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