Those expecting Wes Anderson to return to the straight-forward, warmly-stylized heart-on-their-sleeves dramedies featuring upbeat soundtracks that he established his name on may have to wait a bit longer (or perhaps an eternity). In the meantime, he seems fixated on cracking complicated human traumas through experimental and austere methods of storytelling. More hyper-fixated on the set-dressing and details than ever before, it may alienate many who are begging for a new film as accessible and comfortable as those that came before his post-pandemic era. It also may appear that Anderson has beefed up his practical production design to overcompensate for a lack of emotion. All three of his last theatrical films have faced some level of divisiveness from general audiences, critics, and fans. The French Dispatch and Asteroid City both operate on story-within-a-story structures, chock-full of eye candy, though boiling with indulgent ideas that can feel under-explored at surface value. In their defense in my opinion, revisitations of those films prove profound and charming rewards. Anderson is wrestling with humans existing through heartbreak in all of his films, whether his characters care to showcase those emotions in a broad sense or not. Like with any Anderson film, it’s there among the details.

His latest film, titled The Phoenician Scheme, is no different, and even more linear and compact than anything he’s made in the last decade. The gravely-voiced Benicio Del Toro stars as Zsa-Zsa Korda, an industrialist arms dealer, who evades assassination attempts all while persuading his investors on his titular Phoenician Scheme, a rail and power infrastructure. Joining him on his globe-trotting affair is his daughter Liesl (Mia Threapleton), a convent nun and the proposed heir to his fortune and Bjorn (Michael Cera), a Norwegian tutor to his nine other sons and Korda’s administrative assistant. Anderson as always rounds up a smorgasbord ensemble cast, plugged into small but delightful roles such as Bryan Cranston and Tom Hanks as sibling California investors Reagan and Leland and Jeffrey Wright as Newark investor Marty. Anderson regulars such as Scarlett Johannson, Bill Murray, Mathieu Almaric, Stephen Park, Benedict Cumberbatch, Hope Davis, Willem Dafoe, Rupert Friend, F. Murray Abraham, Riz Ahmed, and Richard Ayoade all round out the murder’s row of familiar faces, but the standouts are his newest additions Threapleton and Cera.

Threapleton’s deadpan brilliance and sharp tongued stoicism beautifully meld with the machine-like preciseness of Anderson, a wonderful successor to Gwyneth Paltrow’s Margot Tenenbaum and a star-making showcase. Talent runs deep in Threapleton’s genes and this is the type of role that will no doubt catapult her into the spotlight. Cera, an actor who seems more overdue to be in an Anderson feature than anyone in Hollywood, doesn’t disappoint. His role is substantial, surprising, cooky, and surprisingly layered. His identity cracks through in layers that Cera seems to revel in, getting to be both transformative and alluringly odd, complete with a comedically pitch-perfect accent.

Del Toro may not harness the same immediate charm and warmth as Ralph Fiennes in The Grand Budapest Hotel or another scheming rich dad with family issues, Gene Hackman in The Royal Tenenbaums, but Zsa-Zsa Korda is a fascinating onion of a character. A tough nut to crack, Korda is much like the film, someone who’s full intentions and honest behavior may not be fully comprehensive until the film’s end. Is he just a buffoonish billionaire? Is his molding his financial empire as important to him than being a father? Does he fear death? Del Toro’s sly and relaxed demeanor in every frame (even while facing multiple assassination attempts) create a character whose warm heart is not immediately visible to the naked eye and who is a bit self-serving, but never pompous and also somehow beautifully calm and inviting. A man who’s done plenty of malicious things in the past, but seems too tired to be malicious anymore. Copious threats on his life have left him unphased and yet deep down he is still fiercely intent on settling his affairs should his life come to an immediate end. His Powell and Pressberger-like visions of the afterlife give us only mere glimpses of his true self, his past, his regrets, his fears of the future.

While the context of Anderson’s latest work has deep textures, the presentation can, of course, come off stilted and hollow, though still a treat to gaze at. Robert Yeoman, his usual DP has been subbed out for Bruno Delbonnel, who seamlessly adapts Anderson’s quirky symmetry while also aiding him with a melancholic color tone. Once again, the production design is miraculous, filled with mid-20th century Euro art decors and antique museum set dressing that begs to be the next coffee table book in your living room, just getting lost in the beautiful designs of Korda’s bathroom floor tiles. While they may keep their emotions closer to their chests, Anderson has also crafted characters here that feel instantly memorable, moreso than any since The Grand Budapest Hotel. They feel thoroughly original, yet so at home in Anderson’s oeuvre. As always if you’re already a devoted fan, whether more or less engaged with this new era of his, Anderson’s vision of the world can often just be an escape all on its own.