The Grand Budapest Hotel

Wes Anderson is Hollywood's Lewis Carroll - and The Grand Budapest Hotel is his Wonderland. Set in the imaginary Eastern European republic of Zubrowska, in the delicately hysterical years between two World Wars, the Grand Budapest Hotel is a lacy handkerchief of nostalgia, a naughty piece of silky lingerie - and a dagger soaked in blood.

Wes Anderson is one of those rare filmmakers whose every indulgence you're willing to forgive, simply because of the loving detail he infuses into his frames, shots, scenes and characters. The Grand Budapest Hotel is yet another feather in his colourful and doubtlessly centre-aligned hat.

The film is a screwball comedy in its truest sense. Buoyant and idiosyncratic, opulent and silly, this one is for lovers of cinema that goes beyond Hollywood mainstream.

Overall, do not expect the film to be realistic, but within its own framework, the film is captivating and engrossing.

The film itself is a madcap caper on one level. On another, it's a look at a dying world, and way of life, in the period between the two world wars, with the specter of totalitarianism looming. Just like the fictional hotel in the title, the movie is a meticulously constructed confection, featuring the extreme attention to detail that Anderson is famous for.

Wes Anderson continues his tryst with quirky storytelling. If you liked Moonrise Kingdom, you'll love The Grand Budapest Hotel. It's like a slice of Mille fuille (better known as the Napoleon pastry). Elegantly decorated, deliciously crusty and delightfully creamy. Savour every bite.

A perfect little gem in an imperfect world...

Anderson is no realist. This movie makes a marvelous mockery of history, turning its horrors into a series of graceful jokes and mischievous gestures. You can call this escapism if you like. You can also think of it as revenge.