The Phoenician Scheme

This is Wes Anderson's darkest film to date. If The Grand Budapest Hotel is the closest Wes Anderson has come to Spielberg, then I think The Phoenician Scheme can be seen as a fusion of 10% David Fincher and 5% Bergman. It's brilliant, exciting, with a touch of poignant tragedy, sadness, and reflections on life and death.

Of course, by "dark," I mean Wes Anderson's kind of dark—similar to the grim tales in the Brothers Grimm. For example, Bluebeard dismembering his wives and hiding them in locked rooms. Similarly, the protagonist, Anatole “Zsa-zsa” Korda, is suspected of having murdered his previous three wives.

He is, by all worldly standards, a bad man: manipulating markets, colluding with officials, royalty, and underworld forces, selfish and ruthless, constantly amassing wealth, making countless enemies. Every day, people attempt to assassinate him or poison him, but he always wakes up from unconsciousness, repeatedly coming back to life.

He’s a bad man, but perhaps the reason is that he was never really loved as a child.

This film tells the story of his final desperate efforts alongside his daughter Liesel for his grandest industrial project, the Phoenician Scheme , and his commercial empire. It’s also a story of him finding inner love and reconciling with himself and the world.

Wes’s characters are always strange and exceptional. Zsa-zsa is a bad man, but he’s incredibly charming and lovable—he's dangerous, cold, and cunning, yet occasionally, you catch glimpses of the vulnerability and sadness hidden beneath his cold exterior. When he wakes up after another assassination attempt, sitting in a bathtub covered in wounds, eating scrambled eggs, reading, smoking, and drinking champagne, what you feel is a certain sadness, helplessness, and tragic beauty.

Almost every Wes Anderson film has that one scene that takes your breath away. In Isle of Dogs , it’s the stop-motion sushi scene; in The Royal Tenenbaums , it’s Margot stepping out of the car in slow motion; in The Darjeeling Limited , it’s the three brothers abandoning their exquisite Louis Vuitton suitcases and running to catch the train. In this film, it’s the opening shot of Zsa-zsa in the bathtub, recovering from his wounds.

I could watch that slow-motion scene ten times: in a beautiful, luxurious, brightly lit bathroom, surrounded by nurses in white, coming in and out, he sits in the tub, wounded, reading, eating scrambled eggs, smoking, and drinking champagne. The opening credits slowly change, the colors of the letters beautifully complementing the patterns of the floor tiles.

At the press conference after the film premiered at Cannes, Benicio del Toro shared the story behind shooting this scene. He said, "Wes told me, 'You sit in the tub, the nurses will come in and out, they’re just doing their thing. You are going to eat, read, smoke. I am shooting in slow motion, but you all have to act really fast.'" Benicio was confused: "Why use slow motion if we’re acting fast? Wouldn’t the result be the same if you shot it normally?" But after seeing the final cut, he realized that it truly made a difference—Wes was right. He said, "I saw it on the big screen for the first time yesterday. It’s mesmerizing."

Wes Anderson is a genius. No one else can achieve the level of detail and beauty he brings to the camera. Right now, I fondly imagine that experiencing the visual beauty of Wes Anderson’s films for the first time is akin to experiencing certain art masterpieces—it expands your perception of beauty. You think, "Wow, I didn’t know such beauty could exist."

Having someone like him present his world to us is a true blessing.

Zsa-zsa has a line in the film that exudes the "I’m teaching my son" tone: “Never buy good pictures. Buy masterpieces.” Some of the oil paintings in the film, including surrealist Magritte and impressionist Renoir, are real works of art. They were lent to Wes by curators from a European museum. That’s the charm of Wes Anderson. These paintings were borrowed for free just to appear in the film for a few seconds. They were carefully transported to the set, filmed, and then returned to the museum, all for the few moments they spend on screen.

Naturally, Zsa-zsa, this villain, wouldn’t have a beautiful and sinister palace without a few world-renowned paintings. The homes of Russian oligarchs probably have Rothko and Picasso on their walls.

I really like this film. To me, it’s even better than The French Dispatch and Asteroid City . Compared to them, The Phoenician Scheme has more obvious dramatic conflict and stronger storytelling. Zsa-zsa and his daughter Liesel’s journey of visiting various tycoons and renegotiating terms is like a video game, leveling up through different bosses. It’s even a bit like Journey to the West , but these monsters are even funnier, especially with big-name stars like Tom Hanks and Scarlett Johansson playing them. In this video game structure, Benedict Cumberbatch’s Uncle Nubar is the ultimate boss at the final stage. You must watch his portrayal, especially his eyebrows—they’re biblical.

Maybe I sound a bit heavy in my writing, but the film is really funny! Wes Anderson’s humor is hard to explain. The funniest character is the entomologist tutor Bjorn, played by Michael Cera, with his "Oslo" accent. This reserved, elegant Nordic academic, after drinking three beers, asks Liesel, “Can you imagine yourself falling in love with a man like me, hypothetically speaking?” Michael Cera seems like the perfect fit for Wes’s films. Tom Hanks and Bryan Cranston as the "Sacramento Consortium" are also hilarious, especially Bryan Cranston’s basketball moves—they’re a work of art. Richard Ayoade’s portrayal of the rebel leader, spraying bullets in a nightclub while speaking with a crisp RP British accent, is an absurd and delightful contrast.

The familiar elements and emotions from his previous films still shine through: extreme elegance, luxury, and beauty, always contrasted with a sense of loneliness, alienation, and unspoken sorrow.

There was once a fan exhibition inspired by his films, called Bad Dads . Zsa-zsa in this film is a bad dad : his nine sons are housed in the same dorm across the street, while his only daughter is a nun in a convent. If Zsa-zsa hadn’t realized that he might die from an assassination attempt, he would never have called Liesel. He hadn’t seen her in six years before that. Though he names Liesel as his only heir, it’s “on a trial basis,” just like he has eight sons but still adopts one because “maybe the adopted one is the smartest?”

As a father, Zsa-zsa is like Royal from The Royal Tenenbaums and Zissou from The Life Aquatic . Royal always introduces Margot with, “This is my adopted daughter, Margot Tenenbaum.”

However, by the end of the film, these fathers usually soften, becoming more peaceful and tolerant. They’ve spent their lives fighting with the world, uncompromising and lonely, but in the end, they complete what they were meant to do—reconciling with their children and the world in their final moments.

His films are like fairy tales for adults.

The character of Zsa-zsa is based on the father of Wes’s wife, Juman Malouf. He’s Lebanese, an engineer, and a businessman. I imagine he might be one of those old-school Middle Eastern businessmen—silent, sharp-eyed, and intimidating. Wes says, "I was a little afraid of him at first. One time he said to me, 'I only work with lions. Do you have lions?' If you go to a restaurant with him, you’ll get special treatment. My father-in-law would order the waiters, 'Move this table over there. We’ve been waiting too long!' And they would obey. I’ve never had anyone treat me like that."

The father-daughter relationship in this film is very complex—distant yet touching. Wes’s previous films also featured father-child relationships, but this one places the most emphasis on it. I think it stems from Wes’s own feelings about his relationship with his daughter. He and Roman Coppola co-wrote the story, both having one daughter each.

In his recent films, the elements of religion and death have become more prominent, adding weight, mystery, and a certain reverence to the films. I think this reflects Wes’s own thoughts on aging and death as he turns 56.

The black-and-white segments in the film, which seem like a judgment before entering heaven, are dreamy and like a review of one’s life or unresolved emotions. I think these black-and-white scenes are especially striking, and the cameos by actors like Willem Dafoe, Charlotte Gainsbourg, and Bill Murray—who look like ghosts from an absurd dream or ancient gods from myth—are truly captivating.

Of course, though I’m speculating on Wes’s thoughts about aging and death, he still looks twenty years younger than his age. When Isle of Dogs premiered at the Berlin Film Festival in 2018, I saw him on the red carpet, and his posture and appearance were like that of an art-school student who likes to daydream.

The film’s score is modern, using Stravinsky’s Firebird .

This time, Wes changed cinematographers. He had worked with Robert Yeoman from his first film Bottle Rocket all the way through ten films. This time, however, he worked with a new cinematographer. I was

initially concerned, but after watching the film, I couldn’t tell the difference. What does this say? Wes’s personal style is so strong that it’s instantly recognizable, no matter who’s behind the camera.

Overall, I think this is Wes Anderson’s most different attempt so far, but I understand why some people still see the same Wes Anderson in this film.

He often says, “Every time I make a film, I feel like I’m trying something very different, but when the trailer comes out, people say: 'Wes Anderson’s style is more recognizable than ever!' (laughs)."

I think I’m seeing a tendency toward transcendence in his work, reflecting his inner evolution as he approaches his later years. Maybe, eventually, Wes will follow Bergman, leaving the world behind.

In The Phoenician Scheme , the most profound impact for me didn’t entirely stem from Wes Anderson’s signature symmetrical compositions, quirky humor, or absurd plots, but rather from the two instances when the music Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring (BWV 147) by Bach played.

This piece by Bach, originally written to praise Jesus, is gentle and solemn, with a deep emotional resonance and reverence. For me, it is not just a piece of music but a call to faith, a reflection of the human heart reaching towards goodness and love. The fact that Wes Anderson incorporated such a religiously significant work into a story about family fractures and healing adds a layer of depth that makes one ponder.

First Appearance: The Crossing of Confession and Repentance

The first time this piece plays is when the father finally gathers the courage to reveal the truth to his daughter.

This father is a cold-hearted businessman, selfish, pragmatic, and surrounded by hatred. He has been estranged from his daughter for years, and there are even rumors that he killed his wife—his daughter’s mother. Since the age of five, his daughter has been sent to a convent, growing up with little to no contact with him. When she returns to him, it’s not for a reunion, but to ask one crucial question: What really happened to her mother?

In a pivotal conversation, the father admits that he did not murder his wife, but he did spread the rumor of her affair with his secretary—simply to provoke jealousy in his brother, who was also infatuated with his wife. This foolish act ultimately led to a tragedy, with his wife being attacked and losing her life.

In this painful moment of confession, Bach’s BWV 147 begins to play. The familiar, solemn melody feels like a sound of redemption rising from deep within. It symbolizes not only the father’s self-reflection and regret but also the process of awakening the soul. It’s the first time we see that he is not entirely heartless, but rather a father torn by the conflict of guilt and love.

Second Appearance: Peace After Loss and Reconstruction

The second time this piece appears is at the film’s conclusion.

Father and daughter lose all their wealth, and the family empire collapses overnight. They begin to run a modest little restaurant, struggling to rebuild their lives. After a long day of work, they close the shop, pour two glasses of whiskey, and sit quietly in the kitchen, playing a game of poker. There are no grand speeches, no sentimental shots—just two people who were once strangers, even enemies, now establishing a genuine and intimate emotional connection after suffering and shared effort.

In this quiet, warm moment, BWV 147 plays again. This time, it’s not the bitter sound of confession, but a peaceful serenity surrounded by love. It represents the soul finding rest after it has been shattered.

The Dual Transformation of Music and Character

From the first to the second appearance, Bach’s piece encapsulates both the transformation of the father’s character and the emotional rebuilding between father and daughter.

Initially, the father’s “faith” was in money, power, and self-centeredness. But under his daughter’s influence, he begins to feel a different force—not control, but acceptance; not manipulation, but giving.

The daughter moves from doubt and resistance to understanding and forgiveness, and it is her tolerance and trust that allow the father to transform from a “lonely controller” to someone “willing to be loved.”

This sacred hymn, written for Jesus, acts as an invisible light, illuminating the softest corners of a cold world.

Perhaps this is the power of great music. When the plot has ended, and the camera begins to fade, the melody continues to echo in the heart.

For a Bach enthusiast like myself, this emotional response is not just from the beauty of the melody, but from how precisely and subtly it is used in the film—it’s neither overused nor underplayed, appearing exactly twice, at the two most crucial moments when love is needed.

The Phoenician Scheme may not be Wes Anderson’s most ambitious work, but the inclusion of BWV 147 lends it a soulful depth. For me, this emotional resonance will remain in my heart for a long time.

In The Phoenician Scheme , Wes Anderson, true to his distinct visual style and narrative approach, delves deep into the complexities of the human soul and our response to the world around us. The father-daughter relationship, the reflection on the past, and the metaphor of changing times are presented in a way that is both serious and tender. The film’s luxurious details and meticulous set design mask deeper emotions and philosophical undertones. The two slaps in the movie serve as jolts, waking the audience up from their comfort zones, reminding us that even in Anderson's stylized world, there are necessary shocks and reflections.

The "territorial instinct" that Pat Riley mentions in The Winner Within applies not only to business and family but also to the characters in Wes Anderson's films. These "manchild" characters are constantly seeking their own space, often at odds with the external world and its rules. The main character in The Phoenician Scheme faces challenges both from external pressures and his own inner turmoil. This personal conflict is more profound than ever before, as the father-daughter relationship is not just about reconciliation, but a deeper process of self-reflection and growth.

Wes Anderson's style is not merely superficial decoration. While some criticize it as "flamboyant," his nostalgia for the past and his delicate portrayal of characters' inner worlds elevate his films beyond simple visual aesthetics. The exotic worlds he creates are not an escape from reality, but rather stages where characters can redefine themselves and confront life.

By incorporating seemingly unconventional elements like the basketball scene, Anderson breaks narrative conventions. This mirrors the similarity between film and sports: both reconstruct meaning and challenge traditional rules. Sports, films, and life itself are processes of continuous exploration and rediscovery. They aren’t just forms of entertainment but ways of confronting reality and combating cynicism and pessimism.

The basketball scene in The Phoenician Scheme can be seen as a symbol: no matter how complex and chaotic the situation may be, we can always restart through a "game" and create new rules. The characters in the film ultimately embrace this challenge of "reconstructing meaning" — they are no longer constrained by societal norms but choose to create their own paths. Wes Anderson, through his film, reminds us that if the world is full of challenges and disappointments, we can face them through films, sports, or whatever means we can control, deciding our own future.

This persistence of "innocence" and resistance to the world, as Pat Riley says, "only innocence, having weathered the storms, can resist the rampant cynicism and pessimism of today." Anderson's films embody this post-storm innocence, guiding us to find a space of peace amid chaos and uncertainty.

Finally, I’ve caught up with this Wes Anderson film ticket. Needless to say, this is a very Wes movie — inheritance, murder, plans, books, insects, notebooks, canals, pipes, aesthetics, big-name cameos, it’s all there. The structure is similar to The Grand Budapest Hotel , with older characters running around for the inheritance, but it lacks the former’s elegant charm, leaning more toward the jungle aesthetic seen in the Henry Sugar series. The dense dialogue made it hard for me to fully understand the story, and I didn’t catch many of the jokes (the Americans in the audience didn’t laugh either), but thankfully, there’s a progress bar of sorts that kept me from yawning hopelessly. Even though the story wasn’t that engaging, the lead actor, Benicio del Toro, was more captivating than ever. This Mexican actor, who previously appeared in Wes's The French Dispatch and Villeneuve's Sicario , is now shining in Hollywood. In September, he’ll star in a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio and directed by PTA. Also, Michael Cera in a supporting role gave an outstanding performance. From being an awkward Frenchman at the start to suddenly becoming a confident American with a bubbly voice later on, his transformation was impressive. He also played in Barbie and, in this film, bears a striking resemblance to Timothée Chalamet.

Amherst Cinema.

This film can be said to be the most quintessentially Wes Anderson in terms of aesthetic style. The visuals are stunningly beautiful, the scenes are full of ironic wit, and the storyline doesn’t need to be perfectly complete. I feel like the director really had fun making this film, as every single frame is thoroughly his own creation.

Every new scene that appeared left the entire audience in awe. The combination of the shameless old father and the nun daughter is interwoven within various strong, beautifully designed entrepreneurial blueprints. Some of the scenes feel familiar, but the director’s style elevates both the texture and content to a whole new level.

My personal favorite moment was the basketball dunk showdown between the Stanford and Pepperdine alumni, Old White and A-Gan. Using a California elite male sports rivalry as a replacement for the classic cowboy shootout… it could be seen as a new cliché replacing an old one… but it still portrays the inevitable and essential conflict between men.

Familiar faces like Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson) and Benedict Cumberbatch make cameo appearances, each arranged by the director with clear purpose, all in service of the main characters and the beautiful visuals.

After watching, I felt extremely envious of Wes Anderson’s work. He can deliberately embrace imperfection and purposefully allocate a large portion of the budget to his personal style. Luckily for the audience, his personal vision is very clear and sophisticated, and that’s a good thing.