‘THE PHOENICIAN SCHEME’ Another Charming, Frothy Anderson Diorama

Wes Anderson’s career is bifurcated between his earlier and later works, with his stop-motion adaptation of The Fantastic Mr. Fox marking the point where things veered into the cartoonishly artificial. His early films had their share of stylistic flourishes: absurdly intricate miniature sets, obsessive symmetry, props so fussed-over they became punchlines. But they grounded these affectations in emotional sincerity. From Bottle Rocket to The Darjeeling Limited, Anderson made films that, despite their quirks, earnestly wrestled with themes of familial estrangement, existential loneliness, and just not fitting in. Since Fox though, emotion has become Anderson’s kryptonite. Something to be avoided at all costs.

His more recent works all rely on extensive A-list ensembles, often playing one-dimensional caricatures or glorified bit parts, to help fortify his obsession with style over substance. Across The Grand Budapest Hotel, The French Dispatch, Asteroid City, and now The Phoenician Scheme, Anderson has managed to corral an almost absurd concentration of top-tier acting talent. And yet, each entry often feels almost utterly devoid of real humanity. That’s not to say they don’t deliver their own cocktail of witticism and stylistic delights. But there’s a distance built into these films. A refusal to reckon with what it actually means to be human. They’re richly detailed dioramas, but they lack a beating heart.

The Phoenician Scheme is Anderson’s latest addition to this increasingly impenetrable oeuvre. The exposition-dense plot follows business tycoon Anton Zsa-Zsa Korda (Benicio del Toro), who, through a tangle of opaque financial schemes, has become a persistent thorn in the side of multiple nation-states. Now the target of international sabotage and an alarming number of assassination attempts — six airplane crashes and counting as of the film’s opening — Zsa-Zsa Korda, a.k.a. Mr. 5%, designates his estranged daughter, Liesl (Mia Threapleton), a nun-in-training just weeks away from her final vows, as his heir apparent and primary beneficiary.

Liesl regards the offer with wary skepticism, seeing her father as the walking antithesis of her moral code. They agree to a provisional arrangement: Zsa-Zsa will walk her through the inner workings of his empire (market manipulation, political coercion, and general bad-business-dude behavior), while Liesl attempts to persuade him to stop doing slavery and famine and stuff.

Zsa-Zsa’s move is two-fold. First, it’s an attempt to reconnect with his only daughter (nevermind his nine sons, an assortment of biological and adopted, all equally neglected). Second, it’s a strategic deterrent. If his would-be assassins knew that his business empire could carry on uninterrupted in the event of a successful assassination, they may be less likely to continue said assassination attempts. The pair are joined by entomology tutor and administrative assistant Bjorn (Michael Cera) as they race around Phoenicia, attempting to persuade investors to cover the bureaucratically-inflated costs of mission-critical rivets, an essential component in Korda’s grand infrastructure scheme. There’s math involved.

Along the path to saving Korda’s business venture, the trio engages in a series of increasingly absurd escapades: a basketball matchup with millionaire mogul brothers (Tom Hanks and Bryan Cranston), an ambush by a communist paramilitary faction led by Richard Ayoade, a sham marriage to a distant cousin (Scarlett Johansson), and a maritime standoff with a seaman syndicate head (Jeffrey Wright) involving an unpinned hand grenade. All the while, Korda and Liesl tiptoe around years of estrangement.

He begins to digest her selfless ways and softens. She comes to realize that penitence and the whole renunciation-of-earthly-goods routine might not be all it’s cracked up to be. There’s also the matter of an unsolved maternal murder mystery and a cuckolding uncle played by Benedict Cumberbatch in a wig and eyebrows that look borrowed from an underfunded community theater production. Layered atop this is a biblical framing device featuring Bill Murray as God and Willem Dafoe barking some heraldry nonsense. As is typical with Anderson’s post-Fox catalog, there’s a lot going on, so the performers are mostly tasked with delivering their exposition with deadpan economy, just moving the ball upcourt with a basic chest pass. It doesn’t all work but the ratio of hit to miss is consistent to say the least.

As with all of Anderson’s films, the obsessively symmetrical compositions, preening production elements, and fussy attention to props, sets, costumes, hair, and makeup, all buoyed by Alexandre Desplat’s joyously plucky score, combine to make The Phoenician Scheme another singular cinematic experience. But the likelihood that it’ll win over any new converts to the Anderson camp is slim to none. Even those who’ve been on the fence about his recent work won’t mistake this for a return to form. Still, no one makes movies quite like Wes Anderson. And his devotees are sure to find much to love here.

I just wish he himself weren’t so afraid of heart. I wish he’d let the camera rest with his terrific actors long enough to feel something genuine. Everything is kept at such a distance, played with such a serious sine of detachment, that you’re held at arm’s length from any emotional core. Which is frustrating, because this film does have one. There’s something real in the relationship between Korda and Liesl. You feel their affections shift and deepen; and Del Toro and Threapleton have surprisingly solid chemistry. But it’s as if Anderson is embarrassed to linger on what it actually means to be a disappointing parent. To rest with what that is in human terms.

From a performance perspective, the ensemble is fun. Seeing Hanks and Cranston shooting free throws is not something I expected from the 2025 multiplexes, but it’s old hat at this point. These are one-dimensional caricatures, not people. Credit where it’s due though: Michael Cera’s (a new entry to the Anderson circus) turn as the fair-natured Bjorn, and then some, stealthily steals the film.

The film’s tagline reads, “If something gets in your way, flatten it.” Maybe that’s the problem. The flattening. The emotional leveling. Maybe, like Liesl and Korda, Anderson could give sincerity a little trial arrangement. Allow a touch of emotional honesty and earnestness to sneak back into the frame. A short-term blind date with some heart. See what it’s like to feel again. Because at this rate, that may be the only way he delivers another masterpiece.

CONCLUSION: Wes Anderson is back to his whimsical quirks with The Phoenician Scheme, a welcome-enough addition to his illustrious second act as a manicured, highbrow comedy filmmaker. The cast is A-list, the shots are symmetrical, the heart is far from the sleeve. It’s everything New Wes represents to a T.