The Grand Budapest Hotel: A Grand Treat

Perched atop a mountain, like a frilly Flamingo pink wedding cake popped onto a pedestal, the hotel at the center of this wondrous Wes Anderson movie is the last bastion of civilization in an increasingly crass world. Or so we are informed by Gustave H, the delightfully prissy and persnickety concierge in this gilded hotel of yore situated in the fictitious village of Zubrovka.

It's the 1930s and World War II threatens. Officers of the ZZ army are already clomping around and examining passports as if they were in 21st-century Arizona . But "Dahling," as Gustave H would say, "this is no way to treat a gentleman."

The Movie Slut hasn't always been a Wes Anderson fan. She loves his whimsical characters and carefully crafted sets, often as artistic as Boy with Apple, the masterful painting at the heart of this wild ride of a film. But plot is also important. And in this movie, we get one.

As customary in Anderson's flicks, the cast is sensational. Here Ralf Fiennes gives us a lovably unconventional Gustave.

At the risk of sounding hyperbolic, the MS compares this treasure of a movie to the Pink Dream diamond.