How's that supposed to make me feel?

I worked in a hotel for years. Years. Specifically, I worked at a restaurant on the grounds, that had a beach on one side and a dolphin lagoon on the other. One night, minutes before closing, this family sits in my section and the mom dramatically waves me over.

Are you still open?

Um, (I look at the bartender who's formed his hands into a pistol and is aiming it at his own head) well...(I look at the lone cook and he's calmly pointing his largest knife at me out of his tiny service window) yeah. We're still open.

Good. Now listen up.

She begins to tell me how her children have some condition or something, and as a result, everything must be burned. Hot dog? Burn it. Bun, too. Put the fries in the deep fryer as long as you can, take them out, and do it again.

Let me tell you something, dear reader. The only thing worse than entering a restaurant minutes before closing, is asking for every single item in your meal to be well done. But as an indentured servant server at major hotel, my job was to make you happy. The way I saw it, maybe I'd get 15%, maybe you'd put me in your will. Oh, what? My request is ridiculous?

In The Grand Budapest Hotel, writer/director Wes Anderson's latest, ridiculous requests are the norm, and each seems to set off a seemingly endless cavalcade of bizarre people doing bizarre things. While that's generally my cup of herbal tea with the teabag on the side and a thimble full of fresh honey, I'm going to be completely honest with you when I say that it didn't really work for me. Almost at all. I consider myself an ardent Wes Anderson supporter, and with Grand Budapest his trademark quirk lost eventually lost its appeal. Instead of laughing out loud as I had anticipated, I found myself merely smiling politely.

It's not all bad, so please, fellow Anderson defenders, chill the f--k out, okay? Put the meticulously crafted knickknack down and go back to your hardcover book. I didn't hate the movie. I just think that the style finally caught and killed the substance, and it was a bloodbath. But an entertaining one nonetheless.

I don't think I can do the story justice, so I'll keep it brief. A guy tells the story of another guy telling a story about a concierge at The Grand Budapest Hotel. The concierge in question, the liberally perfumed M. Gustave (a hilarious Ralph Fiennes), was the pulse of a once amazing hotel, the titular Grand Budapest. Over the years Gustave took great care of his customers, and when hotel regular Madame D. passes away, she leaves him a very valuable painting. Obviously, her family is furious, and it seems they will do anything to stop this from happening. Gustave slips away with the help of a lobby boy named Zero.

From there a great number of things happen and a great number of famous faces show up to do those things, but as I mentioned, I feel like Anderson's style detracts from the story at hand. The rapid fire dialogue can be damn near inaudible, and I swear there isn't a close up to be found. Imagine sitting at a bus station watching all the weirdos, and every two minutes turning in your seat exactly 90 degrees, and you have a taste of what this film was like. Maybe it would be better a second time, I'm just not really looking to revisit it anytime soon.

Speaking of something you should likely never visit in the first place, here are those tough customers the Yays and Boos. They only drink what M. Gustave drinks: chilled water with no ice. (honestly, that ridiculous demand cracked me up for five minutes)

Yaaaaaaaaay!

• What a cast! Jeff Goldblum, Ed Norton, Adrien Brody, Bill Murray, Owen Wilson, Jason Schwartzman, Saoirse Ronan, Tom Wilkinson and more. It's like an arthouse Expendables.
• The R rating. Man, I loved all the cursing so much, it has me shaking like a shitting dog.
• Gustave ends up in jail, and it's safe to say he's a hardcore mofo, even if he's still basically a concierge there, too.
• Willem Dafoe. Does this guy have the best face alive? He's scary. Scary awesome.
• Harvey Kietel shows up and is his usual awesome self. Dude looked jacked, too. As good as he was, Giant Scar Guy might have been even better.
• From Z to A. Aww...
• Is he flirting with you? Yes. Yes he is.
• An underground room full of guards are playing poker when our prison escapees accidentally stumble upon them. What happens is great enough, but then this is said: I suppose you'd call that a draw. I actually backed that up and watched it again.
• And finally, The Society of the Crossed Keys. Man these guys are awesome. I loved how they tried to tip Murray, but he politely declined. That moment was pretty much perfect.

Booo!

• Stylistically, it was very cool, but damn did we spend a lot of time 1.33:1. I get why, sure, but at least give me some close ups then, okay?
• Damn it. Goldblum's injury still makes me wince days later. Ouch.
• And finally, as there aren't many small things to Boo about, let me state that the hype certainly didn't help this one either. As I've said, I love Anderson, and still do, but I seriously thought this was going to be one of the best movies of the last decade after the early word got out. Did I completely miss the point? Or does the boner that Anderson's style give them ultimately impair their judgment? Maybe both?

My friend is a big Wes Anderson guy, and also spent years working at hotel, and when I texted him my thoughts on this one, I honestly think he got pissed. He said that he asked a half-dozen other Wes Anderson fans and they all thought this film was fantastic. I tried to get out of him why he liked it, but he hasn't returned my last text for almost a week now. So in the spirit or ridiculous requests, I have one for him, too. 

If it wouldn't be too much trouble, is there any chance you could f--k off? You know, when you get a minute, thanks!