THE PHOENICIAN SCHEME. I always seem to preface discussions of Wes Anderson’s work with some sort of disclaimer or caveat. It’s as if I feel a need to justify — mostly to myself — my continuing fascination with his canon, and to acknowledge that, as a fan, I am still conflicted by some abiding, defining aspects of Anderson’s career. Part of this intentional distancing may come from an inchoate sense that, in encapsulating some thorny philosophical, sexual and socio-political notions in his work, he has exorcised those difficulties from his own personal life. It is an ill-advised thesis, knowing so little about Anderson’s life beyond the work, that he may have it all figured out. An artist living his best life and becoming rich and famous doing it? Something must be amiss — or I’m a little jealous.
Anyway, it occurred to me as I was watching The Phoenician Scheme that my reverence for and resentment of Anderson have long been twin impulses. It has only been in recent years that I’ve realized my feelings on the work have more to do with the artist than the art. Even in his (imagined) blithe acceptance of the backlash from the faithful, he remains unbending in his dedication to, and apparent enjoyment of, the exploration of his imagination. More often than not, that exploration ends him up on the red carpet at Cannes and the Academy Awards, where he admittedly looks perfectly at home. He is a successful commercial artist, a holdover from a bygone era, which seems pretty cool.
Perhaps because I saw a handful of loathsome internet headlines deriding The Phoenician Scheme as Anderson’s “worst” movie to date, I was more prepared to embrace it than I have any of his work since 2007’s The Darjeeling Limited. (And yes, I’ve been there for all of them.) Having been inside the echo chamber of popular opinion and my own emotionality for a long time, I can’t help but wonder if I’m finally coming out the other side of it.
Scheme may be Anderson’s most self-encapsulated story yet, a mid-century industrial espionage caper set among the shadowy world of the titans — a world constructed with many of the classic grace notes and motifs of Anderson’s career. Of course the characters here travel by private plane, train and automobile. Of course they (all) have monogrammed luggage. This, more than any of the worlds he has so far created, is a rarefied space of its very own, built from the materials (be they sturdy or diaphanous) that have defined both his visual and narrative style.
Dogged by rumors and assassins and governments alike, Zsa-Zsa Korda (Benicio Del Toro) remains steadfast in his commitment to what may be his last, grand international project (see title above). He is the father of nine boys, some by biology, some by adoption (the ratio is unclear), but only one girl, Liesl (Mia Threapleton). Liesl intends to take her vows as a nun, but Zsa-Zsa disrupts her life by appointing her sole heir to and executor of his fortune, simultaneously carting her around the world in his somewhat frantic attempts to shore up and finalize his scheme.
As distilled an elixir as Scheme is, it still manages to venture into some more daring territory, including brief sequences in which members of the Anderson stock company serve as Biblical judges of Zsa-Zsa’s acts. It’s nesting doll stuff, not unlike Asteroid City (2024), but there is a level of concurrent restraint and baroque abundance that, while it couldn’t come from anyone else, feels like an acknowledgement of criticism and an exclamatory advance. PG13. 101M. BROADWAY, MINOR.
FROM THE WORLD OF JOHN WICK: BALLERINA For world-building (and destruction) of an entirely different sort, we turn now to Ana de Armas in the unnecessary but deeply satisfying Ballerina. She, Eve, the daughter of Wickian super-fighters, was rescued in childhood from killers and a life in institutions by one Winston (Ian McShane) himself. Under the roof of the Russka Roma, she trains as a dancer and a counter-operative, a gun for hire on the right side of history.
All of which is fun but more than anyone reading this may need to know. This is a grand-scale revenge barnburner, one that levels up the mayhem of even John Wick with gleeful hand-grenadery and close-quarters flamethrower fights.
For the faithful, this is a deeply satisfying addition to, and expansion of, this cinematic universe. Plot-wise, it may seem a little light when measured against the totality of the Wick myth, but in some cases less is more. And here, the opportunity for the combat and explosions to even more prominently take center stage is a welcome one. R. 124M. BROADWAY.
John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.
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BRING HER BACK. An A24 horror in which a foster mom (Sally Hawkins) freaks out her new charges with their sibling and possibly some light necromancy. R. 99M. BROADWAY.
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FRIENDSHIP. Deeply uncomfortable social situations spiral out of control and this is why there’s a male loneliness epidemic. Starring Tim Robinson and Paul Rudd. R. 100M. MINOR.
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SINNERS. Ryan Coogler directs Michael B. Jordan as twins battling the undead in the South during Prohibition. R. 137M. BROADWAY.
For showtimes call: Broadway Cinema (707) 443-3456; Mill Creek Cinema 839-3456; Minor Theatre (707) 822-3456.
This article appears in Wide Open.
I see it’s still The Phoenicican Scheme in the subhead …