As The Phoenician Scheme ends, I wonder: has Wes Anderson become a pastiche of himself? Does his style still serve the story?
Few directors are still alive and making films that have a distinct aesthetic, like the iconic Wes Anderson. His directorial style has become instantly recognisable, inspiring accounts like @accidentallywesanderson, where people can submit pictures they’ve taken that unintentionally resemble stills from one of his thirteen films.
His latest film, The Phoenician Scheme, premiered in Italy on May 20 at Fondazione Prada’s Cinema Godard. The director participated in a conversation moderated by journalist Mattia Carzaniga before the screening. A year after The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Three More, Anderson returns to the big screen with this new espionage black comedy, co-written with Roman Coppola. The Phoenician Scheme centres on a delicate father-daughter dynamic, blending multiple genres and reflecting Anderson’s flair for adventure and narrative layering. As always, the film elevates his aesthetic to new heights.
I made my way to Fondazione Prada and enjoyed a drink at the Bar Luce, designed by Anderson, before settling in to watch his latest film. As soon as the lights dimmed and the movie started, viewers were immediately drawn into Anderson’s signature framing. As a long-time fan, I had an idea of what to expect from this new story: perfectly symmetrical shots, a bright colour palette, planimetric compositions, eccentric characters, and extraordinary set design. His style is recognisable for a reason.
Wes Anderson’s Signature Aesthetic, Taken to Extremes
The Phoenician Scheme pushes this aesthetic to new levels. The film follows the classic Anderson formula seamlessly—plutocrat-entrepreneur Zsa-Zsa Korda, played by Benicio del Toro, wants to take control of the economy of a fictionalised Middle Eastern nation. This pursuit involves a diverse and international lineup of characters (played by a star-studded cast featuring Bryan Cranston, Tom Hanks, Scarlett Johansson, Riz Ahmed, and Benedict Cumberbatch, among others). The story unfolds through a series of ironic, deadpan scenes filled with misunderstandings, conflicts, comedic deaths, and typical Andersonian explorations of familial relationships.
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Frames from The Phoenician Scheme by Wes Anderson (2025)
Anderson slightly breaks his usual pattern by incorporating scenes in black and white—possibly a nod to Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal—taking Del Toro’s character to a heaven where God is played by Bill Murray, of course.
As the movie finishes and I wait for the credits to roll, a question pops into my head: is Wes Anderson becoming a parody of himself? Is his unique style merely an aesthetic that he wants to push further, one that no longer serves the stories he aims to tell?
Production Design at Its Peak, but What About the Story?
On a purely production level, this movie is visually stunning. Anderson continues to innovate with set design, costume design, and scene composition. He has truly taken the “Wes Anderson feel” to an astonishing level. The acting is also impressive—Michael Cera delivers an outstanding performance in his feature for an Anderson film, showcasing incredible comedic timing. I agree with Benedict Cumberbatch, who remarked at Cannes that “watching Wes discover and use Michael is like God discovering water.” Benicio del Toro also gives a remarkable performance. The dialogue and script embody the deadpan humour that is distinctly Andersonian.
However, this brings me to my concern as a longtime fan of his work. While watching this latest addition to his filmography, I couldn’t help but feel that he is becoming a pastiche of himself. His style has started to feel repetitive—while it does push boundaries in terms of production design, I miss another important detail of his films that I love: his storytelling.
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Snapshots from behind the scenes of Anderson's film
One of the reasons I fell in love with the Andersonian film universe is his unique way of exploring deep familial relationships through deadpan comedic humour. What may initially seem like simple portrayals of relationships between brothers or entire families actually hides deep and often traumatic bonds between people who are intrinsically connected, whether they like it or not, for the rest of their lives. This aspect is what I love most about early Wes.
Take, for example, The Darjeeling Limited, which I recently rewatched in preparation for seeing The Phoenician Scheme. In this film, you can see all of the typical Wes Anderson elements that contribute to his current aesthetic, but without pretentiousness or an overwhelming need for perfection in every shot. What makes it even more compelling is the relationship explored between the three brothers in the story. One of the final scenes takes place in train cabins, all connected, showcasing many of the characters in their most vulnerable states. This purely visual storytelling evoked something deeply relatable in me, an emotional resonance that is hard to find in his newer films. The beauty of the continuous snapshots of the train passengers and the different lives expressed through the little cabin windows created an incredibly powerful human moment.
Can the Wes Anderson Aesthetic Still Surprise Us?
How much value do we, as viewers, place on aesthetics versus storytelling? The answer, of course, varies from person to person. Personally, I believe that a visually appealing movie is not enough. The Phoenician Scheme stands out to me as a remarkably well-produced film. However, it also makes me long for a simpler time when Wes Anderson used the aesthetics to enhance the story rather than overshadow it.
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I don’t think Wes Anderson will stop upping his production game any time soon, and I’m glad he won’t. Part of me hopes that we will see some of his more tender stories resurface and that the focus of his films will remain equally divided between aesthetics and storytelling. So, to answer the question: can the Wes Anderson aesthetic still surprise us? The answer is complex. It absolutely can, but it also runs the risk of becoming a parody of itself.