Starring Ralph Fiennes (“The Constant Gardener,” 2005), Tony Revolori (“The Perfect Game,” 2009), and Saoirse Ronan (“Hanna,” 2011) in primary roles, Wes Anderson‘s eighth feature film “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is a prison break movie, but in the way only Wes Anderson could make a prison break movie. Situated in the former nation of Zubrowka somewhere between Central and Eastern Europe, the film recounts, from the point of view of an older Zero Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham; “Inside Llewyn Davis,” 2013), the tale of Monsieur Gustave H. (Fiennes), the concierge of the eponymous hotel, who catches the fancy of many an older woman who arrives to his place of employment for a temporary stay. 

When one of his “close friends”—regular attendee Dowager Countess Celine Villeneuve Desgoffe un Taxis (Tilda Swinton; “Snowpiercer,” 2013), or “Madame D.,” for short—dies at 84 and Gustave is accused of murder, a younger Moustafa (Revolori), who at this point works under him as a lobby boy, will need to team up with the love of his life Agatha (Ronan) to break him out and prove his innocence, all while keeping him from her son Dmitri (Adrien Brody; “Midnight in Paris,” 2011) and his henchman J. G. Jopling (Willem Dafoe; “Nymphomaniac,” 2013) baying for the blood of who the world thinks is her killer.

“The Grand Budapest Hotel” is shot entirely on film and scattered across various formats—DCI for the present-day timeline, the Academy 1.37:1 aspect ratio for 1932 era, and the 2.40:1 CinemaScope aspect for 1968 with scenes featuring Jude Law (“Side Effects,” 2013) as the nameless young author interviewing the older Moustafa—to visually reflect the cinematic standards of the respective timelines each style fits into snugly. That alone would be an incredible technical achievement by Anderson and cinematographer Robert Yeoman, who has worked with the director since his debut feature “Bottle Rocket.” It’s a whole lot more than that, though.

In an interview with Filmmaker Magazine, Anderson is quoted as having said that he teamed up with British artist and writer Hugo Guinness to write “[..] a story about [a mutual friend of theirs],” and added that their final decision was to “mix [a host of Anderson’s inspirations] together,” and “make a story based on whatever I was interested in reading.” The free-flowing nature of “The Grand Budapest Hotel,” as a result, feels like a visually non-linear adventure that mixes classic slow-burn drama, visual comedy, and mystery noir of the likes you’d see Humphrey Bogart in, serving up a platter that’s so wildly inspired from every kind of classic movie, literature, or work of art it feels like its own, bold new thing.

The film’s timeline-hopping fairytale-esque nature is enhanced by film editor Barney Pilling (“Never Let Me Go,” 2010), who uses technique malleable enough not only to the timelines that ascribe it but also somehow knitting its visual variations to form a seamless whole. The playful European flair of Academy Award-nominated film composer Alexandre Desplat’s (“Argo,” 2012) soundtrack of “The Grand Budapest Hotel” adds a dash of sprightly step with his various tools—a yodel here, a flamenco there, and when it’s time to go creepy and foreboding, bam!, church organ—that echo his classical-inspired flighty pieces for Lasse Hallström’s “Casanova” (2005).

“The Grand Budapest Hotel” may be an audiovisual feast, but what makes it an artistic marvel is that its dynamic style enhances the narrative’s focus on its primary characters through different decades. Like with every single one of Anderson’s works before this, the film feels like yet another chapter in his long-running thesis that sets out to disprove the myth of style not equalling substance and wildly succeeds at it, yet again. Throw in the fact it’s got a host of characters, small and large, headlined by a stacked cast consisting of the likes of Tom Wilkinson (“The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel,” 2012), Owen Wilson (“Cars,” 2006), Jason Schwartzman “Scott Pilgrim vs. The World,” 2010), Harvey Keitel (“The Congress,” 2013), Mathieu Amalric (“Quantum of Solace,” 2008), Jeff Goldblum (“Independence Day,” 1996), and Edward Norton (“The Bourne Legacy,” 2012)—and I’m only scratching the surface here—all packed within a kinetic runtime of 99 minutes, and you’ll see just how much of a tightrope-walk this was.

The fact that not a single part of “The Grand Budapest Hotel” feels overstuffed, despite the lineup looking like the final boss of ensemble casts, is a testament to how well the movie works from the first frame to the last. Fiennes, Revolori, and Ronan are brilliant, and their performances form the film’s beating heart. Abraham and Law lend to its underlying melancholy. At the same time, Schwartzman, Norton, Goldblum, Swinton, and Dafoe are always present through many of the film’s essential punctuations in its emotional rollercoaster of a ride. They’re all so well-spaced and work perfectly within its overall image system.

For better or worse, how you react to the film will depend entirely on whether you vibe with Anderson’s artistic trademarks. So, recommending the film will be a tough gamble because reading minds is something I still need to perfect as of this review’s writing. However, the film succeeds marvelously in its intent to take its viewers on a fairytale-like adventure with every possible emotional twist and turn within its narrative molded to perfection. “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is a dazzling artistic turn from its singular director that needs to be seen to be believed and sits cozily among his best work.