Take this The French Dispatch Quiz to find out which character you are. We update the quiz regularly and it’s the most accurate among the other quizzes.
Wes Anderson stated in a 2019 interview with Charente Libre that his new film, “The French Dispatch,” was “not easy to describe.” He is correct; it is not, and any explanation would deconstruct it in such a way that it would sound much more unintelligible. It’s like pulling apart a clock to discover how it works and then forgetting what time it is. A clock is a fitting metaphor for Anderson’s style, which is prevalent in all of his films but to a greater extent here. “The French Dispatch,” composed of a bewildering array of buzzing crossing teeny tiny bits, ticks forward mercilessly, never pausing to breathe, scarcely pausing for reflection.
“The French Dispatch” misses some of the most appealing characteristics of his previous films, such as “Rushmore’s” prep school follies, “The Royal Tenenbaums'” and “The Darjeeling Limited’s” personal family dynamic, or “Moonrise Kingdom’s” focus on children. In contrast, “The French Dispatch” keeps the spectator at a distance and is a stronger picture as a result. It’s amazing to watch Anderson pursue his fixation to its logical conclusion (it’s difficult to conceive how much further he could go). The film may be difficult to describe, but it is a lot of fun to see. It’s a frantic, fast-paced film about a very slow, unchanging world. Also, you must try to play this The French Dispatch Quiz.
The French Dispatch Quiz
The object of Anderson’s obsession (“object” is a keyword) in “The French Dispatch” is The New Yorker, specifically The New Yorker during the tenure of finicky founder/editor Harold Ross and his daunting roster of writers—James Thurber, A.J. Liebling, Joseph Mitchell, Rosamond Bernier, James Baldwin—all of whom were given enormous leeway in terms of subject matter and process but edited within an inch of their lives to align their prose with the aggressive New
The fictionalized New Yorker is called The French Dispatch, and it is published out of a little French village called Ennui-Sur-Blasé, despite the fact that it began in Liberty, Kansas, where editor Arthur Howitzer, Jr. (Bill Murray) was born and bred. (In one of the numerous “A-ha” moments scattered throughout, the magazine was originally titled Picnic.) William Inge was born in Independence, Kansas, and is best known for his 1953 play Picnic. Get it? Liberty and Independence. None of this signifies anything, but it’s entertaining if you notice it.) Howitzer is accompanied by a dedicated crew who oversees a group of oddball writers who are all hard at work finishing things for the upcoming issue. “The French Dispatch” does not go into the lives of these characters, instead of focusing on their work, and the film’s structure is that of a magazine issue, where you practically step into the pages and “read” three unique articles. But first, there’s the Jacques-Tati-style opening sequence, plainly a spoof on The New Yorker’s “The Talk of the Town,” with Herbsaint Sazerac (Owen Wilson, dapper in a black beret and turtleneck) pedaling through Ennui-Sur-Blasé, showing us the sights (and speaking directly to the camera, causing some unfortunate collisions).
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The first magazine story revolves around Moses Rosenthaler (Benicio Del Toro), a brilliant artist serving a life sentence for homicide who is having an affair with Simone (Léa Seydoux), his muse, promoter, and prison guard. Adrien Brody plays Julian Cadazio, Moses’ agent in the high society art world, wheeling and dealing to have Moses’ work seen. The second story is a whimsy pantomime of the 1968 Paris student protests, presented in Godarddian pastiche, with Timothée Chalamet as Zeffirelli, a moody revolutionary (is there any other kind?) and Frances McDormand as Lucinda Krementz, the French Dispatch writer whose objectivity is compromised when she inserts herself into the story. (This part was definitely influenced by Mavis Gallant’s 1968 chronicle of the protests for The New Yorker, “The Events in May: A Paris Notebook.”) The last chapter follows writer Roebuck Wright (Jeffrey Wright), a mix of James Baldwin and A.J. Liebling (with a dash of M.F.K. Fisher tossed in for good measure), as he attempts to profile a legendary chef named Nescaffier (Steve Park), who works his magic in the police department kitchen. Anderson uses animation, graphics, still lifes, visual puns, and humor to tell each story, all kept together by the thread of Alexandre Desplat’s score and Anderson’s single-minded sense of goal.
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