Monday, May 25, 2015

My Country, 'Tis of Thee

I am sitting in a movie theater in Bulawayo, Rhodesia*. It is 1958. I am a student at Eveline Girls High School in Bulawayo, and along with other boarding students, we are waiting for the movie to begin.  I have no recollection whatever of which movie it was. But certainly it was made in Hollywood and was therefore an American movie.  As movies did years ago, this one began with several short films—maybe news reels. I don’t recall.  But what I do most vividly recall is that when the opening credits of the feature film were about to roll, the screen suddenly filled with a flag of the United States of America, in lovely vivid color. As it waved in the breeze, I felt my whole being swell with pride. Here was the flag of MY country. The image was accompanied by the strains of the national anthem, The Star Spangled Banner.

I suspect I was alone in my patriotic fervor. I was no doubt the only American girl in the group. Most of the other students attending the boarding school were Rhodesian girls—white, in those days of apartheid—daughters of farmers and businessmen in the country. While there were other American girls attending Eveline—daughters of missionaries, as I was—I lived in the house closest to the actual school buildings, a consequence of my having had rheumatic fever which meant I was not meant to be subjected to too much physical strain, such as walking a distance to classes.  And when it came to movie going outings, we went by house**.

Fast forward several decades, and I am sitting in a football stadium attending a Penn State football game. As does every athletic event in the U.S.A., this one began with the band striking up the opening strains of the Star Spangled Banner and the entire crowd joining in.  Except me.  I found it hard to sing joyfully the words I knew by heart, and happily sang in the movie theater in Bulawayo.

When my parents, brother, sister and I returned to the U.S. in 1960, the United States was as shining an example of democracy as one could imagine.  We had helped win World War II, we had saved Europe and perhaps western civilization. We embodied the Yank can-do spirit. Give us a problem, and we could solve it, fix it, rescue it, save it.

Sure, we had divisions—some more painful and vivid than others. Blacks in America were living under continued white domination, even though slavery and the Civil War had ended. But blacks also migrated north in astonishing numbers and helped drive the great explosion of American manufacturing. 

Political parties existed, but Republicans and Democrats tolerated each other, and even worked together.  Where politics took on a very sharp turn was when Senator McCarthy began spotting “Communists” under every stone.  The McCarthy hearings devolved into some of the worst political persecution the United States had seen in its history.

And then came a decade of unraveling.  Like many Americans, I was entranced with the bright new president John Kennedy.  His assassination, while not the first of a sitting president, seems so much like turning out a light and plunging the nation into a kind of darkness.  Other political assassinations followed in stunningly swift succession — Malcolm X; Martin Luther King, Jr.; Robert Francis Kennedy.

The unraveling was also evidenced by the U.S. becoming mired in a winless war in Vietnam.  This is my generation’s war. Like any war, it took too many young lives. Classmates, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, sons, brothers, fathers.  We mourned deeply, as we do today, Memorial Day. 

News trickled out of the horrific wholesale slaughter of villagers in Vietnam. We heard names like My Lai—places we never knew existed much less had an idea what they looked like. We only knew that the U.S. had lost its innocence. We weren’t the good guys anymore. The flag of the United States no longer symbolized something heroic.

There were other ways we lost our innocence. We learned how many countries had leaders overthrown by the CIA, in our name. Chile, Iran, Guatemala, Congo, Brazil, Dominican Republic, and even South Vietnam—ironically, President Kennedy authorized the assassination of President Diem in August, 1963.

What amazes and heartens me is that even with all this—the ways in which political leaders have deceived and failed us—we still have young men and women who are motivated by patriotism. Who see beyond the cynicism and respond to the call of duty. Young men and women who firmly believe that they can make the world a better place.

So on this day, Memorial Day, I say thank you to Larry and to Jay (friends who died in Vietnam), to all the young men and women who lost their lives in Vietnam, in Lebanon, in Kosovo, in Bosnia, in Iraq, in Afghanistan.

I love my country—I love the potential for which it stands.  I love the good it has accomplished in the world. And I love that it continues to beckon people all around the world to come here.  Yes, I will sing the Star Spangled Banner again—I just wish the “rocket's red glare and bombs bursting in air” was a less frequent occurrence. Along with the national anthem. I would love to sing heartily the words of some of our other unofficial national anthems—"God Bless America," "This Land is Your Land," and "My Country, 'Tis of Thee."


 Childe Hassam's painting Flags, Fifth Avenue

*In 1980, Rhodesia was renamed Zimbabwe.
** Think Harry Potter, where students are sorted into different houses, both for lodging and for academic competition.

Tuesday, May 05, 2015

Too soon old; too late schmart!

Confessions of a 70 year old.

Today is SΓΈren Kierkegaard's birthday. That is note-worthy for this blog as it was Kierkegaard who noted that “life must be understood backwards. But then one forgets the other principle: that is must be lived forwards.” 

To put that philosophic thought another way, we have the Pennsylvania Dutch expression: we grow too soon old, and too late schmart.

Indeed.

This year, I celebrated my 70th birthday. I was born in February, just months before the close of World War II. Of course, I don't remember that event, but the proximity of my birth to the end of the last world war helps frame the span of my life.  It also means that I was on the cusp of the Boomer generation.

So by now, I should have the “understanding life” part down.  I do have a few confessions that perhaps have come with looking back over life and understanding it:

1. I don’t feel 70.  While I have no desire to be a 20 or 30 year old again, and while I have certainly matured, my inner sense is not all that different from what it was decades ago.
2. I don’t look 70. I recently had a conversation with someone who had come to do some work at our house. In the course of the conversation, I noted that my husband and I have lived in our house for 35 years--whereupon the worker asked how old I was. I replied--70. In response to my reply, the worker burst out--NO WAY. Then he asked how I managed to not look 70. The answer is:  good genes; good luck; and no smoking.  Of course, I could be like a well-preserved antique car that, suddenly one day, has all its wheels fall off.
3. And I feel 70.  OK, so this contradicts # 1 above.  Let's just say my MIND feels young, while my body throws in an occasional creak and moan to say "Not so fast."
OK—enough of confessions.

Here’s another part of growing older.  There is a somewhat tired joke that the first thing one does in the morning is read the obituaries—if your name isn’t there, go ahead and make a cup of coffee.  Well, I do confess to reading the obituaries. Having lived in one place for 50 of these 70 years, there are many names I recognize.  And occasionally, someone’s death is recorded and I write a note to the ones who remain behind.

It isn’t so much that growing old makes you think more often of death—although of course you do because—well, because it’s inevitable. That’s one of the understanding life insights.  What I do think of is that the passing of a person from this life leaves behind a void. And for a time, loved ones and acquaintances remember. And then we fade from view.

I want to note in particular a recent death of a blogging friend—Philip Robinson. I never met Philip in person, but through his blog I learned to value this singular person. His blog—entitled Tossing Pebbles (which is still available to read) reveals a man with a wide array of interests. Through his blog I learned that he was a father who raised a son virtually alone; that he was a very proud grandfather to three accomplished grandchildren. I learned that he was interested in and dedicated to subsistence living—I shuddered every year when I read his blog about chopping enough wood to see him through a northern Canadian winter. He was passionate about history and about politics. It was always a delight to read his thoughts in any given blog post.

Now, he has died. He learned in January that he had pancreatic cancer, and even though he had surgery and received good medical care, this aggressive disease overwhelmed the best efforts. 

Living life forward, understanding life backwards. Thus it ever was. Or as my Pennsylvania Dutch ancestors might say “too soon old, too late schmart."



Wednesday, April 29, 2015

For the Birds

The Writer’s Almanac for April 26, 2015, included these sentences:

(April 26) is the birthday of the man who once wrote, "I feel I am strange to all but the birds of America": ornithologist and artist John James Audubon born (on April 25) in Les Cayes in what is now Haiti (1785). Audubon grew up in France, and when he was 18 years old, his father managed to get him a false passport to escape the Napoleonic Wars, and he headed to America. Fascinated by all the new American birds he saw, he began to study them more closely. . .
Audubon fell in love with a woman named Lucy Bakewell. Her father objected to Audubon's lack of career goals and insisted that he find a solid trade before marriage. So, he opened a general store in Kentucky on the Ohio River, and soon after, John and Lucy were married. Audubon was a terrible business owner, and eventually he realized that his best chance for success lay in his birds after all. Lucy took on the main breadwinner duties by teaching children in their home, while her husband traveled all over the continent collecting specimens for his masterpiece, Birds of America (1838). 

Which immediately sent me tumbling back in memory to 4th grade, at the Shepherdstown school. 

In 2007, I posted a recollection of my 4th grade experience in grade school in the United States. Most of my elementary education was in (then) Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia), and later in (then) Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). But for a little over a year, my parents were in the U.S. on furlough.  So, I went to American schools for part of 3rd and 4th grade.

So what does this have to do with James Audubon? Well, I remember little from those two grade school classes, except this. We did a play in class—all about James Audubon and his beloved Lucy. I have no idea which students played what parts. I just remember being enthralled with such a sweet love story.


Trust a nudge from the Writer’s Almanac to set my memories aflutter.  The things we remember… Sometimes those thoughts are "for the birds."


James Audubon print--Baltimore orioles

Monday, March 23, 2015

Mmmmm...that was tasty!

If you are a long time reader, you know I have an on-going love of movies. True, there was a time when I eschewed going to movies in a misguided belief that movies were inherently immoral.  But, once I recovered, I returned to seeing movies, and have discovered many ways of viewing them.

I finished several recent posts on movies that had been nominated for the Academy Award in a particular category, with the winners being awarded a golden statuette nick-named "Oscar."

Since Oscar season is over for a year, I am ruminating on other ways of enjoying movies than just whether or not they are winners.  I got to thinking about all the ways that eating, or food scenes, play an important part in movies. Such scenes are frequently symbolic and in a brief scene will convey something very telling about the characters.

So, herewith a few memorable eating/food scenes from movies.

One of the earliest movies that I remember being enthralled with was Tom Jones (1963), the adaptation of Henry Fielding's novel from the mid-1700s. It is in fact one of the earliest novels that we have in English literature. The plot was basically structured around a series of encounters that the titular character Tom Jones has. I can't attest to whether or not the movie was a faithful adaption. But I do recall one singular eating scene. Tom has met a lusty woman named Jenny Jones. And there then ensues a marvelous scene where the two dine in a roadside, eating crab legs, chicken legs, turkey legs, oysters and so forth. It is a most seductive scene ending, predictably, with them rushing to bed.

Another favorite eating scene comes from Mel Brooks' splendid Young Doctor Frankenstein (1974). Peter Boyle plays Frankenstein's monster; he has broken free of his creator and is now being chased by angry fearful townspeople. The monster seeks refuge, and happens into the humble hut of a blind priest, played by Gene Hackman. The monster is virtually mute, and can only grunt. The priest cannot see, but offers the runaway monster some food--soup. As the monster sits waiting at the table, the monk comes to him and proceeds to ladle out the soup...predictably missing the bowl. It lands on the monster's lap, burning him. He cries out--HMMMMM.  Of course, the monk takes that to be his appreciation for the food...and the scene goes from one misunderstanding to another.

And the final scene which involves food (believe me, I could go on...but I don't want to lose the reader) comes from the movie Five Easy Pieces (1970). The movie stars a very young Jack Nicholson, and while I can't the plot of the movie, or even the point, I certainly recall Jack Nicholson ordering toast.  And, no, I can't describe it.  You will just have to watch it--it's a classic.

Could I go on? Oh, you bet.  But now, I have to go get dinner ready.  We are NOT having any of the aforementioned featured foods.

Do you have a favorite food scene from a movie?  Do tell!

Sunday, March 08, 2015

The Eye of the Beholder

Now that the Academy Awards for 2015 have come and gone, it's time for a little reflection.  Time was that the standard announcement for those handing out the Oscar statue was something like this: ...and the winner for the BEST (fill in the blank) is ...

No more.  Now the announcement is--and the Oscar goes to (fill in the blank.) 

There's a reason for that change. Oh, I don't know if it was mandated or not. But the reason is that the Academy must have come to realize that not always did the best in whatever category win.  Or it depended very much on the standard by which someone was judging whether or not the winner was in fact THE BEST. 

There have been some atrocious choices as "the best" in the history of the Academy Awards. Let's see how you do selecting the winner in some of these match-ups. Pick YOUR winner. (In each case, I list the films alphabetically...so as not to give away the answer.*

1. Brokeback Mountain OR Capote OR Crash

2. Saving Private Ryan OR Shakespeare in Love

3. As Good As It Gets OR Good Will Hunting OR  L.A. Confidential OR Titanic

4. Forrest Gump OR Shawshank Redemption

5. Apocalypse Now OR Kramer Vs. Kramer

6. Bonnie & Clyde OR  In The Heat of The Night OR The Graduate

7. It's A Wonderful Life OR The Best Years of Our Lives

7. Citizen Kane OR How Green Was My Valley

OK . . . I could go on. In fact, many websites DO go on and on and on about the snubs the Academy has inflicted on nominees.  Of course, there are many excellent and beloved actors who never won an Oscar (outright) for a particular performance.  In recent Oscar times here are some of those who have not won: Leonardo DiCaprio (nominated 5 times); Tom Cruise (nominated 3 times...and, yes, he CAN act -- Born on the Fourth of July -- when he wants to); Glenn Close (nominated 6 times); Sigourney Weaver (nominated 3 times); Amy Adams (nominated 5 times).  

What the Academy tends to do is, after years of being snubbed, the excellent non-winners win a special "lifetime achievement" award. Luminaries such as Cary Grant, Bob Hope, Laurence Olivier, Greta Garbo, and Lauren Bacall

The eye of the beholder is the only explanation I have for some of the movies and actors over-looked in this annual celebration of movies.  And also the only explanation for some of those picked as winners.

So here are the ANSWERS: The Oscar went to...
1. Crash;  2. Shakespeare in Love;  3. Titanic;  4. Forrest Gump;  5. Kramer Vs. Kramer;  6. In The Heat of the Night;  7.  The Best Years of Our Lives;  7. How Green Was My Valley.

In looking at these head to head competitors, in virtually EVERY instance, I remember the movie or movies that did NOT win, and those movies are also the ones that movie history has proclaimed.  Look at almost any list of the top 100 Best Movies and you will see Citizen Kane at the top of that list.  And yet it did not win "best picture" in 1941.  

Maybe winning the All Time Best award is better than getting that little gold statue.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Going to the Movies Part 3

Tonight's the night!  So I had better get a move on...

The last two movies that are subjects for my Oscar preparation (and anticipation) are Selma and Unbroken. Now, I hasten to point out that Unbroken is not one of those nominated for Best Picture, or best director, or best actor, etc.  In fact, it was only nominated for cinematography, sound mixing and sound editing. Of course those categories are very important for the people who work in those fields, but--frankly--I don't stay tuned for the winners.

So, why did I pick this pair to compare and contrast. Well, there are quite a few similarities. Both both are about real men, based in 20th century American history; both deal with men of uncommon valor, who have to deal with a presumption of racial superiority.

Unbroken focuses on the life of Louis Zamperini,  Now, were it not for a best-selling book by author Laura Hillenbrand, Zamperini's life, beyond his youth, might have passed relatively unnoticed.  Hillenbrand*, you may recall, is the author who wrote another story of resilience and triumph--Seabiscuit.  Just as Seabiscuit was seen as fertile ground for making a movie, so was her book Unbroken.   Even though the idea of making a movie about Zamperini's life had been kicking around Hollywood for decades, it was mostly likely Hillenbrand's book that jump-started it.  Angelina Jolie, who directed it, had to fight--not to get the movie made, but to be selected to direct it.

After a childhood during which Zamperini was a bit of a miscreant, he discovered he had a talent for running. In fact, he became so accomplished that he was selected for the U.S. track team which went to the 1936 Olympics held in Berlin, the ones infamous for Hitler's domination of the spectacle--and for Jesse Owens' amazing accomplishments as a track star that buried Hitler's notion of racial superiority. Owens won four gold medals--3 in sprint, and one in long jump. Zamperini was a distance runner participating in the 5,000 meter race. He didn't win any medal, but acquitted himself well with running the final lap in record time.

The connection that Zamperini has to 20th century American history was his service during World War II.  He was a bombardier on the somewhat notorious B-24 bombers. These planes were known to be difficult to fly. In fact, the plane he was on was hit by gunfire during an aerial battle and badly damaged. Because of that, he and other crew members were sent to Hawaii to be reassigned. While they were waiting, a call came in to go on a rescue mission for another downed bomber. A crew of 11 was assembled and flew off in another B-24. During that mission, the plane he was on developed mechanical problems and went down in the Pacific near Palmyra Island. Thus began another great adventure of his life. He and his surviving crew mates lashed together several rafts and began drifting across the Pacific Ocean.  

After 47 days of drifting in the Pacific, the raft washed up on Marshall Islands, then under control of the Japanese, some 1837 miles (2956 km,). The two remaining survivors were promptly captured by Japanese soldiers, thus beginning another "adventure." While the movie shows his early life, the youthful troubles he encountered, and his running triumphs, it concentrates on the drama of being adrift and the subsequent imprisonment in Japanese POW camps. During this time--about two years--he and other Allies were cruelly mistreated by prison guards, some of whom were particularly sadistic. One stand-out example, which the movie portrays very convincingly, was a guard the POWs called "The Bird."  He took a particular dislike for Zamperini and never missed a chance to punish him.  It is during these moments in the movie that the viewer experiences full force one of the elements that was evidenced in World War II.  Just as the Germans presumed their superiority due to their "Aryan purity," Japanese soldiers felt superior to their captives whom they degraded and looked down on.

Zamperini's very survival is an indication of his uncommon valor. The movie ends before the final difficulty of his life; Zamperini experienced one other challenge that threatened his survival. Upon his return home after the war, he began to drink heavily.  His life was turned around after his wife begged him to go hear the evangelist Billy Graham.  Based on the message Zamperini heard, he realized he needed to change his life--and he did. Beyond that, he absorbed a central element of Christian thinking--that of the need for forgiveness, even of one's enemies. Zamperini eventually returned to Japan, and sought out his former captors with the specific intent to forgive them.

Martin Luther King, Jr., the subject of the movie Selma, is far better known to most Americans than is Zamperini. Given that familiarity, there is less need to underscore the initially stated similarities: the two stories are about real men, are based on 20th century American history, both deal with men of uncommon valor, and both deal with a presumption of racial superiority. We know many of the basics of Dr. King's life--his rise to leadership in the infancy of the civil rights movement.  In fact, the movie Selma distills many of the details in a single event--the march from Selma to Montgomery in 1965.

Following the Civil War, African-Americans were systematically and routinely deprived of many of the rights the Civil War was intended to help them gain. Chief among those was the foundational right of our democracy: the right to vote. African-Americans were required to register to vote--as we all are today--but for them, the finish line was a moving target. The movie powerfully portrays this in an event involving Annie Lee Cooper (played by Oprah Winfrey). She tries to register to vote, only to be asked a series of questions which she admirably and confidently answers. Then one last question is thrown at her, one so trivial as to be absurd. Not surprisingly she cannot answer, so her application is stamped DENIED.

To redress this and other grievances, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and Dr. King are brought in to Selma to try to galvanize action. Part of the drama of the movie also focuses on the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, which included John Lewis, which had been trying for three years to move voter registration forward.  The means to move voter registration rights forward was to organize a march from Selma to Montgomery, the capital of Alabama, which begins by crossing the Edmund Pettus bridge. 



(credit for photo of the Pettus bridge-- "Edmund Pettus Bridge 03" by Carol M. Highsmith)

The history of this time is fresh to many of us who were adults--albeit young adults--during the 1960s.  Its retelling is essential for younger generations to know that the right to vote was hard won for African Americans.

Other elements of Dr. King's life are woven into the movie--not always in full detail, but enough to give a sense of the man's life, including some of the sadder aspects.  We know that the FBI maintained a file on him, that the then director J. Edgar Hoover seemed to make a special point of spying on Dr. King.  We also know that Dr. King was unfaithful to his wife in a way that very nearly destroyed his marriage.  All these elements are in the movie.

What we see is only a glimpse of is his uncommon valor. We don't see much of time spent in jail--where Dr. King was too often sentenced for his pursuit of basic rights for Americans.  We don't see many of his speeches where the possibility of rioting and destruction was all too present. We don't see his death at the hands of a white assassin.

What we do see graphically portrayed is the visceral deep-seated hatred that too many whites displayed against Africa-Americans. There are very few examples in the movie of whites who were moved to join this basic civil rights fight. But there some.

So, where do the movies differ? Apart from the understandable differences of stories being told about two different men being portrayed, perhaps the singular difference is in the length of their lives. Louis Zamperini, born in 1917, died very recently in mid-2014. Dr. King who was born in 1929 was assassinated in 1968.  And, of course, neither of the deaths feature in the movies.

The movies share one more common aspect--both have been controversial in that challenges were raised to the ways in which the stories were told, and how faithfully history was represented. Some evangelical Christians were upset that Unbroken ended before Zamperini's life-changing encounter with Christianity. And Selma has been controversial in the elements of history either omitted, or recast. There were many more nuances to the civil rights campaign--and at times the movie truncated those events. What has received more press has been the way President Lyndon Johnson was portrayed--as reluctant to get into the civil rights campaign.

A far better treatment of the way these two movies tell history is dealt with by my fellow blogger (and longtime friend) in her blog post: "Pondering History, Torture and Violence."  I commend it to you.

OK--now, off you go. Watch the Academy Awards. And afterwards I just might tell you if I picked any winners.

--------------------------------------------
*Laura Hillenbrand has her own story of struggle and resilience. While she was a student in college, she experienced a sudden debilitating weakness that was eventually diagnosed as being caused by chronic fatigue syndrome. Her life has been marked by her ups and downs with this disease. But despite the severe limitations it places on her life, she has managed to become a successful author.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Going to the Movies--Entr'acte

(To the novice reader of this blog...are there any?...please note that the blog title suggests that there have been other "Going to the Movies" entries of late. Pray, go back two posts, should you wish to read Going to the Movies, part 1 and Going to the Movies, part 2. Otherwise, after you read this one, wait breathlessly for Going to the Movies, part 4--yet to be written.)

I read a recent article in the New Yorker by James Surowiecki titled "Rethinking the Seasonal Strategy" in which he notes that the predilection of Hollywood, which began in the early 1970s, to release movies seasonally based on the predicted popularity is beginning to break up. Surowiecki notes that "for decades, Hollywood's release strategy has been governed by a simple calculus: summer is for blockbusters, the end of the year is for classy, and the other months are for stuff you fear no one wants to see."

This year's early release in January breaks that strategy--Clint Eastwood's American Sniper had one of the biggest openings when it was released...in January.

But this review is NOT about American Sniper. Truth is, we have not yet seen this movie, and--frankly--I don't know if we will. I am by birth and persuasion a pacifist. Certainly, I watch war movies, and find many of them deeply moving. But I am not sure I am ready for a movie that glorifies the warrior, while taking note and illustrating the deep soul-searing effects war has on that person.

No, this review is about The Grand Budapest Hotel*. (Incidentally, The Grand Budapest Hotel was another one of those movies released "off season" in March, 2014.) And I am treating it alone because it is unlike any of the movies recently released. The only thing I could compare the movie to would be other Wes Anderson's film.  You can see titles of other films he has directed here.  Despite its having been released "off season" The Grand Budapest Hotel is one of the Academy Awards'  nominees for best picture of the year.



The Grand Budapest Hotel is set in the fictional country of Zubrowka in a fictional hotel some time between the world wars-- in the 1920s-1930s.  The title refers to a hotel in the grand old style--sprawling, lovely, evocative of a way of life long past. I think the hotel exterior looks like a fantastic confectionary creation of a cake...which is also what the movie is. 

Summarizing the plot is an exercise in futility. The story is told in flashback by an old writer (F. Murray Abraham) who sits in the lobby of the hotel, His audience is a young writer (Jude Law). In between is a rollicking delightful absurd confusing lovely humorous movie.

I loved the dialogue--rapid fire, intricate, laugh-out-loud lines. To recapture some of the best, I go to IMDB and read them. Bits of the best dialogue in the movie is featured in the previews--but don't avoid the movie thinking you got the best bits in the preview. There's so much more...lines that couldn't be included in the movie previews.

And I loved the characters.  This ensemble cast seems to have everyone currently in the movies these days as well as in television. The lead character--the hotel's concierge Monsieur Gustave H.--is played by Ralph Fiennes with a fine comic touch. Frankly, I would never have thought of him as comic actor--but he is perfect in this role. Many scenes are played with absolute straightness, but the context is so outrageous that the effect is comedy at its best. One such scene--that includes many cameo performances--occurs when Gustave H. calls on the connections of his fellow concierges in hotels all over Europe.

If you haven't seen the movie--or even if you have--you can read a summary of the plot. It helps you make your way through labyrinthine complications, which perfectly suit Europe's pre-World War II's complexities.

I think it is unlikely that this movie will be awarded the Oscar for best movie of the year...but, in many ways it is.  It is not only a comedy, albeit a dark comedy. It is also an insightful glimpse into Europe before the start of the last time the world was seized with war.  This article nails it--The Grand Budapest Hotel is a thoughtful comedy about tragedy.
--------- ----------------------------------------
* In looking back through past blogs, I find that in April, 2014, I speculated that this movie would NOT be picked as an Academy Award nominee.  It's nice to be wrong!