If you are a fan of Wes Anderson, then The French Dispatch certainly scratches that symmetrical itch. Although very little is ‘new’, everything is fantastic.

It would be hard to find a director as discussed as Wes Anderson. Video essays, articles, books; even I have shamelessly written an assignment or two on the colourfully coordinated auteur, there is simply too much to talk about. Anderson is a jack of all trades and a master of many: his stunning and characteristic visuals are loud, fun, and interesting, complimenting his outlandish writing and characters as his flair for the pastille reaches out beyond his perfectly balanced frame. Some argue that it can be a little ‘too much’, but The French Dispatch proves that Anderson still thrives on the eccentric.

A love letter to artistic journalism, The French Dispatch is a visualisation of the titular magazine’s final edition. Following the death of editor and founder Arthur Howitzer Jr. (Bill Murray), the paper is to close shop, releasing all its writers as the American-owned French magazine publishes its last issue containing republished articles alongside an obituary. Split into three separate feature articles (and a brief travel log which introduces the fictional town of Ennui-sur-Blasé, the paper’s home), Anderson ditches his usual ensemble cast single narrative in favour of the star-studded short stories – this time with more ‘ensemble’ than ever.

Favouring a vignetted format can be risky: trading in a recurring cast of characters for a series of fresh heroes every half an hour or so is a fine line to walk. What if the first story hits a homerun but the last barely gets off home plate? Anderson knows what is at stake and leans into his eclectic nature. Rather than stringing along an outrageous story that is so silly it ticks back around to the realm of normal, sans normality, The French Dispatch is built upon these three succinct articles. And it works.

It doesn’t feel like Anderson is trying to tell a story. The Grand Budapest Hotel, although centred on the titular hotel, is more about the budding relationship between Gustav and Zero than the offbeat world of etiquette and thievery. The French Dispatch on the other hand feels like a magazine. Although all the anthological problems are still present, I never found myself upset when an article ended. It had run its course and was time for the next section of Anderson’s menagerie of actors, a fresh cast for each narrated novella.

Although none of the pieces ever cross-paths, their verbose authors do. As writers for the magazine, J.K.L. Berensen (Tilda Swinton), Lucinda Krementz (Frances McDormand), and Roebuck Wright (Jeffrey Wright) each narrate their articles. At first, their prose is convoluted and jarring as they jump from detail to detail without pausing for breath but it soon begins to feel natural; it wouldn’t be an article without some loquacious flexing.

When the young fall in love… Timothée Chalamet & Lyna Khoudri. Photo: Searchlight Pictures.

The authors may speak about others, yet they are at the centre of their own stories. For the most part their narration compliments the story, either filling in any missing details or simply verbalising the symmetrical visuals. Each author has their own voice, their own style which flourishes throughout each of their pieces. It isn’t a case of which article was the best but one where I want more of everything: each one flies by as the interchanging aspect ratios and colours (or lack thereof) create a world of hilariously melancholic minutia.

But is it too much? Anderson has been saturating his style for years, ever evolving until every frame coherently exists in the same oddball world. As The French Dispatch jumps from story to story, it is easier to understand the criticisms against the visual assault. The aspect ratio changes so much that I became uninterested by it, sometimes changing for a series of split-screened shots while some scenes stretch far beyond the 4:3 frame.

While fresh in its episodic nature, The French Dispatch is a Wes Anderson film and isn’t anything less. Each article is brimming with intrigue and packed with enough excitement for an entire film, but Anderson moves things along speedily and expects you not to think about it too much, so I didn’t. Yes, it may be more of the same intelligently asinine humour Anderson has become known for, but it was funny then and is still extremely funny now.