Wes Anderson’s Worldbuilding Made The Grand Budapest Hotel His Best Movie

In the 10 years since audiences first checked into The Grand Budapest Hotel, the gravitas of the majestic mountaintop stay still marks a high point in Wes Anderson’s filmography. In his eighth feature, Anderson incorporates real history into a surreal land, pulling off his boldest setting yet. The story takes place in the fictional country of Zubrowka—a shaken snow globe of cartoonish characters and lavish architecture made even more whimsical by Anderson’s effervescent use of color and symmetry. Upon closer inspection, Zubrowka isn’t just a wondrous escape, but a parallel to mid-century Eastern Europe on the brink of World War II. Over the course of the movie, the resort’s bellhop-turned-owner Zero Moustafa (Tony Revolori) takes us back to the hotel’s heyday, recalling its fascist occupation, as well as the antics of its eccentric former concierge, Monsieur Gustave (Ralph Fiennes).

Anderson’s style is instantly recognizable: The visual balance, the quirky ensembles, the cutesy title cards and storybook tableaus. Applying this style to different landscapes is the director’s specialty, but The Grand Budapest Hotel shows the director at his best, and the key to its effectiveness lies in immersive worldbuilding. The film’s Eastern European influences are instantly recognizable in its spellbinding scenic design and art nouveau architecture. The Grand Budapest is inspired by a real hotel, built in 1896, called the Corinthia Hotel Budapest (but originally called the Grand Hotel Royal Budapest). While the world doesn’t share many other connections to Budapest, Anderson said he invited people he met in Budapest, Prague, Berlin and Poland while traveling across the continent to appear in ensemble scenes. Anderson said the world is “a pastiche of the greatest hits of Eastern Europe.” Thus, Zubrowka’s ornate architecture represents an amalgamation of styles taken from Eastern European cities and nations, though Anderson cited Prague as his primary inspiration.

The exterior of the Grand Budapest, as well as the film’s recreation of Switzerland’s Sphinx Observatory, are not multi-story buildings, but handmade miniatures. The stylized, pastel blue and pink model contrasts the curvilinear interior, which was built as a set, inspired by an old department store in Gorlitz, Germany. An opulent hotel design separates the past from the post-war present, with the colorless, Soviet-inspired transformation featured in the beginning of the film representing the collectivist values of the new regime (as well as the domination of communism in real-world Eastern Europe).

These distinct yet disparate regional inspirations bring the film’s political context to life. The action of The Grand Budapest Hotel takes place in 1932, in the midst of a burgeoning fascist occupation analogous to the beginning of World War II. In typical fashion, Anderson offers a farcical equivalent of a real Nazi brigade, with this army led by the klutzy Inspector Henckels (Edward Norton). Henckels’ gray army sorely sticks out among the world’s sugary color palette and the fascists bear many clear parallels to the Nazis, such as their ZZ insignia and costume design that almost exactly replicates Nazi uniforms.

As demonstrated in Anderson’s moving allegory about corruption in Isle of Dogs, Anderson’s lighthearted aesthetic pairs well with political satire. In The Grand Budapest Hotel, he fleshes out this fictional nation with historical nuance to give his characters’ comic antics higher stakes. In the two scenes where Henckels’ soldiers question Zero about his immigrant status, the film steps out of its bubbly atmosphere and pauses, allowing us to take in the very recognizable (and sobering) theme of xenophobia. These brief interludes remind us of the very real specter of totalitarianism haunting even this fictional world. Anderson cited many mid-century Europe-set comedies as inspirations for the film’s humorous approach to its themes, such as the Budapest-set The Shop Around the Corner, as well as To Be or Not to Be, which chronicles the German occupation of Poland through the comedy of an acting troupe. 

Anderson’s doll-house worlds never lose their sparkle, but the thoroughly researched setting of The Grand Budapest Hotel makes the film his most memorable. Meticulous and grounded worldbuilding plays a big role in the film’s effectiveness, recalling history through architectural references and WWII history to construct a fantastical portrait of mid-century Eastern Europe. Anderson’s cartoonish style and characters (even the fascist ones, in this case) unlock a refreshing and unconventional approach to the period piece, allowing us to envision Zero, M. Gustave and the rest of Zubrowka without discarding its real-world context.

Sage Dunlap is a journalist based in Austin, TX. She currently contributes to Paste as a movies section intern, covering the latest in film news.