Film Review: "The Phoenician Scheme"
The quirky director's newest film offers more of the same, and it far too often emphasizes plot machinations and intricate visuals over coherent story or meaningful character development.
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Warning: Full spoilers for the film follow.
Like a lot of other people, I find Wes Anderson movies to be very hit-or-miss. Some, such as The Grand Budapest Hotel, manage to convey an emotional depth and richness despite (or perhaps because of) the ornateness of Anderson’s visual design. Others, such as Asteroid City, tend to get lost in their own ornateness. For me, The Phoenician Scheme definitely falls into the latter camp. While the film has all of the accouterments that one expects from the director–exactingly detailed compositions, a dry and sometimes absurdist sense of humor, and a surfeit of acting talent–I found it a bit of a chore. There’s always something to be gained from watching one of the director’s films, of course, but sometimes you just want him to get on with things rather than to get so lost in the quirkiness of it all.
The heart and soul of the film is the relationship between wealthy magnate Anatole “Zsa Zsa” Korda (Benicio del Toro) and his estranged daughter, Liesl (Mia Threapleton), who is currently in a convent training to be a nun. Once Zsa Zsa survives yet another attempt on his life, he sets out to both rebuild his relationship with Leisl and also procure funding for an elaborate scheme to essentially remake infrastructure in the fictional country of Phoenicia. To do so, he constructs a series of elaborate schemes by which he hopes to get more money from his various investors. In the end he manages to complete the project, though doing so bankrupts him, and he settles into a different sort of life with Liesl, who has ended up leaving the convent.
Like so many other Anderson productions, the film is an embarrassment of riches when it comes to its cast, many of whom have worked with the director in the past. Tom Hanks and Bryan Cranston are slyly funny as Leland and Reagan, a pair of brothers who are also investors. Riz Ahmed brings a lovely note of tenderness as Prince Farouk, as does Michael Cera, who plays the entomologist Bjørn Lund, who is really a spy for the group of governments who want to bring Zsa Zsa down but ultimately becomes a turncoat after he loses his heart to Liesl. Other heavy hitters such as Scarlett Johansson, Jeffrey Wright, and Benedict Cumberbatch (wearing a very strange and deeply unsettling beard) also make appearances. Zsa Zsa and Liesl jump from one encounter to another, with the father gradually coming to terms with his own failures.
Perhaps I was just not in the Wes Anderson frame of mind, but to me these little vignettes were fine as discrete entities but rarely contribute to a whole. As a result, the film feels like even more of an experiment in artistry and whimsy than is usually even for this particular director. I kept waiting for it all to cohere in a way that felt earned and authentic, kept waiting for some grand revelation that would make the whole thing worth it. Unfortunately that moment never quite arrived, and while the film is undeniably quite beautiful, there are also far too many times when it seems to be nothing but an elaborately-wrought artifice, a piece of sugary cake with no real substance.
This isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy The Phoenician Scheme, because I did. Though I often feel that I’m outside the charmed circle of those who just get Anderson, there’s usually something in his films that speak to me (that was true even of Asteroid City, for all that I found it lacking in many ways). And, to be sure, there are some poignant notes in here, particularly since Zsa Zsa really does seem to want to reconcile with his daughter, to make amends before it’s too late. To be quite honest, though, I’m just not sure that del Toro’s rather affectless acting is up to the task of making him into someone who is either charming or sympathetic, and the disjointed narrative doesn’t do him any favors. In the end, I’m just not sure that it’s possible to redeem a man who spends much of the film wanting to use slave labor to finish his grand design.
Time and again, the film gets so wrapped up in its own intricacies and machinations that its narrative, and the emotional depth and development of its characters, stalls out. As Peter Debruge memorably put it in Variety, “At times, The Phoenician Scheme can feel about as much fun as watching a gifted accountant navigate the loopholes of corporate tax law, given Anderson’s newfound preoccupation with contractual intricacies and arcane financing arrangements” and, while Debruge goes on to remark that this is all a MacGuffin to draw attention away from the father/daughter bond, I can’t help but wonder: why bother? If, as the film’s conclusion seems to insist, the whole point of it was to see father and daughter overcome their difficulties and establish some sort of rapprochement, then why all of the other bizarre plot twists and turns?
Even more distracting are the bizarre mystic visions that Zsa Zsa frequently experiences and which burst in to draw us away from what little momentum the narrative has managed to create. I’ve no doubt that these are supposed to reflect some sort of profound metaphysical reflection on Zsa Zsa’s part, an attempt on his part to grapple with his demons and his guilt over abandoning his family–in addition to Liesl, he also has a whole crop of sons–but to me they just felt like so much more pretension. Not even the presence of such luminaries as F. Murray Abraham and Willem Defoe are quite enough to save them.
So, The Phoenician Scheme was, for me, a very mixed bag. It’s certainly a pleasure to look at, and Anderson has lost none of his penchant for crafting a compelling visual, and I remain especially struck by one early scene, shot from above, in which Zsa Zsa reclines in a bath recovering from his wounds while nurses float around him. All the same, I hope was left more than a little cold, and I hope that his next confection has a little more substance, even if that means it has a little less style.