Watching a Wes Anderson film is like being invited to play in the most beautiful, most elaborate doll house. Once inside, you suddenly find the world he depicts is so tender and so true that it’s fragility moves you to subtle but deep understanding. If you are willing to listen, he’ll make you understand that our best intentions often lead to disaster. Our beautiful ideals offer thread-bare covering for our failures, and that the things we fear are often the things that draw us to greatness…and that the subtext of life is what stops us from being who we could be. The things that delay catharsis. I couldn’t be more excited about The Grand Budapest Hotel. I really couldn’t. Except maybe if I could defy logic and give in to my rabid desire to tear through the screen and climb in the scene and touch the characters, and smell the paint…and kiss Bill Murray on his forehead while taking a nap…

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