Wes Anderson’s latest is a wild romp, slightly incoherent at times — or, not incoherent, exactly but confusing in a good way. Until you realise afterwards that it did all hang together and make sense.
It tells the tale — several tales — of the eponymous fictional magazine, which is loosely based on The New Yorker. Here, it is a supplement to a Kansas newspaper, published from a city in France.
There are four stories, wrapped in a framing sequence of the editor-in-chief dying and his will saying that the magazine should cease publication.
There’s chaos, slapstick, wild events, and Anderson’s usual painterly visuals. It’s loads of fun.
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