Bashable Rivets, Broken Bonds, and a Phoenician Scheme
“We are so back,” I whispered as the credits rolled—relieved, exhilarated, and deeply moved by the film I had just watched.
Two years after Asteroid City (2023), Wes Anderson returns with his twelfth feature film, The Phoenician Scheme. Anderson has long been my favourite director, and this film comfortably sits in my top five. While I was somewhat disappointed by his most recent work, The Phoenician Scheme reminded me exactly why I keep coming back to his films. The production design and cinematography remain exquisite, and here, the emotional resonance is front and centre, even amid his signature stylisation.
Despite my efforts, I struggled to connect deeply with some of Anderson’s recent films in the way I did with earlier works like The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004), or The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014). But The Phoenician Scheme feels like a reinvention of his own conventions—a perfectly imperfect film that’s darker, more violent, and less visually symmetrical than we’re used to. The frames feel less precise; some camera movements are intentionally “messy” (that one scene near the end caught me completely off guard). Yet, somehow, it couldn’t feel more like a Wes Anderson movie.
Set in 1950, the film follows international businessman Anatole “Zsa-Zsa” Korda (Benicio Del Toro), who survives yet another assassination attempt when his plane mysteriously explodes. During this near-death experience—his sixth plane crash—he briefly crosses into the afterlife, where a council of enigmatic existential entities weighs the moral value of his life (and he keeps coming back there throughout the film as Korda’s priorities shift radically).
Having narrowly escaped death, Korda reaches out to his estranged daughter, Sister Liesl (Mia Threapleton), a novice nun. He offers her a provisional role as his sole heir while attempting to bring order to his chaotic affairs and salvage the family fortune. Their reunion is quietly observed by Bjørn (Michael Cera, who truly seems born to be in a Wes Anderson film), a Norwegian entomologist hired to nurture Korda’s newfound fascination with insects. But Liesl hasn’t come just out of duty—she has her own questions and reasons for seeking him after years apart.
The trio soon becomes entangled in a covert scheme: a shadowy business consortium led by the enigmatic Excalibur is conspiring to fix the price of essential materials, particularly bashable rivets. This threatens to derail Korda’s ambitious plan to modernise Phoenicia’s infrastructure—hence the Phoenician Scheme. The price manipulation deepens what Korda calls “The Gap”—a growing shortfall in funding for his massive projects, forcing him to rely on a clandestine network of fixers and backroom investors to close the distance (many of them are portrayed by actors who have previously worked with Anderson, which is truly one of my favourite things about his films).
What begins as a film blending espionage, intrigue, assassination attempts, and capitalist satire gradually transforms into something far more introspective and moving. The film’s tonal shifts—swinging between playful whimsy and serious, often violent moments—may surprise the audience, yet they underscore the complexity of the characters and themes. This careful balance keeps viewers fully engaged, moving seamlessly between laughter and quiet reflection.
One of the most compelling aspects of The Phoenician Scheme is its focus on the complex father-daughter relationship at the heart of the story. While Korda isn’t a traditionally “good man,” his love for his daughter feels genuine. Their dynamic is far from perfect, but it’s precisely this flawed bond that makes their story so beautiful and relatable. Korda’s vulnerability shines through moments like when he admits to Liesl, “You’re the only child I wish I were a proper father to.” His sincere, sometimes awkward attempts to be a better father give the sprawling plot a heartfelt core, and it’s this imperfect bond that truly makes the film resonate.
Del Toro, Threapleton, and Cera are impeccable—one of my favourite on-screen trios of the year. Del Toro embodies the tycoon cliché with unmatched flair, delivering some of the film’s funniest lines (I can’t stop thinking about him saying “What? What? What?” or speaking French on the phone—if you know, you know). Threapleton, an incredible discovery for me, strikes a perfect balance between dry humour and genuine warmth. But Michael Cera is the real MVP (most valuable player). I still can’t believe this is his first time working with Anderson—it feels like it should’ve happened years ago. His effortless commitment to Bjørn’s style, accent, and quirky energy is nothing short of brilliant. He fully inhabits the Wes Anderson world, making his performance a true standout.
As always, the meticulous production design and carefully curated soundtrack and score by Alexandre Desplat (one of my favourite composers) elevate the film, creating an immersive, richly textured world that’s unmistakably Anderson.
While it’s not my all-time favourite Wes Anderson film (I believe The Royal Tenenbaums will hold that spot forever), The Phoenician Scheme reminded me why his work means so much to me, and I already can’t wait to watch it again.
Now playing in theatres.
Bisous, bisous.
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