The Phoenician Scheme is a film by Wes Anderson (Houston, 1969). And it is so from the moment the bus (yes, bus) with the entire Andersonian troupe inside (from newcomers to the family like Michael Cera and Mia Threapleton to regulars like Benicio del Toro, Scarlett Johansson, or Mathieu Amalric) disembarks on the red carpet of the Palais de Cannes until the last frame. And beyond. It could be said that it is the film that every follower of the filmmaker had always dreamed of. Like each and every one of them, but always a little more. Once again, those symmetrical shots reflected upon themselves; once more, that almost obsessive taste for raw, bright, pastel, primary, warm, and cold colors (all of them), and consistently, that meticulous study of feelings that could be perfectly geometric.
And yet, something happens in the new film that makes it completely different. For the first time, politics are discussed, but the current ones, the ones of everyday life. Del Toro brings to life Zsa-Zsa Korda, a businessman who dominates the world, his world and that of others, shamelessly, without a sense of measure, and of course, with no more scruples than those that burn. A day before its world premiere this Sunday at Cannes, the director talks about his inspiration, his style, his father-in-law to whom he dedicates the film, and even about tariffs. And it is precisely at that moment when one can perfectly imagine Bill Murray as a customs agent in Wes Anderson's next film.
Question. How about the bus?
Answer. It's not that we use just any bus for presentations, it's that I have a bus. It's very practical because we all fit, and as you know, there are many of us. I remember the first time we used it was for the presentation of The French Dispatch right here in 2021. When I mentioned it to Thierry Frémaux [director of the Cannes Film Festival], he frowned and commented that he didn't think it was a good idea to bring such a vehicle to the Croisette. But in the end, we did it, and he was delighted. Now it's part of the Anderson package. When he informed me that The Phoenician Plot would be in competition, the first thing he said, without me provoking him, was that he would need the bus again. The bus is now part of the show.
Q. Would you say that The Phoenician Scheme is your most political film? The Grand Budapest Hotel also touches on politics, but from the past. In many ways, with that tycoon who wants to take over the world, it seems more like a commentary on the current state of the world right now than an imaginative and supposedly harmless Wes Anderson film.
A. Yes. As the film's plot deals with a ruthless capitalist, the political dimension is evident and very important. What is happening now, what has changed from the past, is that big businessmen now act in front of everyone. The role of big capitalists has always been the same since capitalism exists. But before, they maneuvered behind the scenes, and you would only find out about their power, if you ever did, 25 years later because of some historical study or investigation. Now there is no shame, everything happens with cameras and microphones on in front of everyone.
Q. It's true that at some point you mentioned that the inspirations for the leading role played by Benicio del Toro were magnates from other times like Gianni Agnelli, Charles Foster Kane, or Aristotle Onassis. However, many of us actually see, at least at the beginning of the film, people like Elon Musk.
A. There is another character that I find more interesting and that is definitive: Calouste Gulbenkian. He is remembered as a philanthropist, but before anything, he was a great capitalist. I don't know if you are familiar with his story, but it is as fascinating as it is terrifying. His activities in the Middle East, mediating in oil agreements, shaped the region and the world. Today's Middle East is, in part, the result of those negotiations and the interaction between capitalism, diplomacy, and governments. He orchestrated much of the map we see today. I'm not an expert, but the book Mr. Five Percent by Jonathan Conlin, about Gulbenkian, illustrates how one person's ambition can influence not only their time but also the future. In fact, I borrowed the nickname Mr. Five Percent for my character.
Q. I read that the film is directly inspired by your father-in-law, Fouad Malouf, a Lebanese-born construction engineer, and his relationship with his daughter, who is now your wife, Juman, a costume designer who has collaborated on some of your films.
A. Yes, the character is not like him, who was wise, overflowing. Did you know Fouad? [He addresses his assistant who is not far away and responds that he saw him a few times]. He spoke English slowly, deliberately. Once he told my wife, "I have to explain my work to you, in case something happens to me." He took out shoeboxes, and each one had a project. This is the Saudi project, this one is for Gibraltar, this is for Florida... He knows what I'm talking about, and those who watch the movie will quickly understand why this is important. He was an engineer, but he also had a lot of the entrepreneur in him. I remember once I asked him what his partners were like, and he replied, without hesitation: "All lions."
Q. Are there still lions in the film industry?
A. I think so. People like Carlo Ponti or Sam Spiegel could fit into this mold. Once I met a producer in Rome who I believe was a co-owner of Cinecittà and who fit this same pattern very well. He was from Lebanon and was the kind of person you see controlling everything and everyone around him. I remember he told me he took a steam bath every day of the year, wherever he was. And he told me he had a sauna installed in each of his homes: in his apartments in New York, Paris, and London, in his palazzo in Rome... In other words, he had an empire of steam baths around the world.
Q. I think it's time to talk about the film tariffs that Donald Trump has announced. We are talking about cinema and capitalism. It fits. What do you think about imposing a tax on creation?
A. The idea that I imagine the president has in mind is simple: "Let's make movies perform better in the United States." It makes sense. In Los Angeles, where the historic film industry is, people can't find work. Productions go to London, or they used to go to Atlanta. At least Atlanta is in the United States, but now it's also in recession. For a while, they went to Budapest. But of course, talking about a 100% tariff... How do you do that? It sounds like taking all the money. And besides, how do you hold a movie in customs? A movie is not even a physical object anymore; it's an image on a screen. I don't know. I can understand the motivation, but honestly, I don't grasp the measure.
Q. It's very rare to see a villain as the protagonist of one of your films. I wonder if perhaps evil is more photogenic than goodness.
A. Interesting debate. The Nazis didn't consider themselves evil and were great at creating their particular visual universe. In general, cinema thrives on darkness, on the photogenic power of evil. Genres like noir or melodrama are based on that darkness. For this film, my initial mental images of the character were brutal: a man walking away from an airplane crash he caused by forcing someone to take off. His drive is dangerous. But with Benicio del Toro, I always felt a certain tenderness, and the film, on its own, moves towards that, towards clarity. I didn't plan it consciously that way, but the story led me in that direction.
Q. On the other hand, essentially, this is a film about the father-daughter relationship, a recurring theme in your work. Perhaps the one it most resembles is The Royal Tenenbaums. A family of geniuses. To what extent can it be said that all conflicts in life arise from this original and very Freudian relationship between any of us and our father?
A. The family is where all conflicts really happen and where their resolution takes place. Conflict in the family is something daily and essential: the child comes home from school, and there's already drama. Furthermore, the first experiences lived precisely within the family shape the stories that are later told.
Q. How does Wes Anderson relate to his increasingly refined, identifiable, and more Andersonian style? Is style a prison or, on the contrary, the hallmark of your creative freedom?
A. I honestly don't know what style is. My style is simply how I want to do things. Sometimes there's a concept: lenses, lighting, specific settings... But most of what people call "style" is simply, as I say: "This is how I like it." The camera placement, the framing... Those decisions connect my films, although it's not my intention for them to do so, I'm not concerned if my decisions carry my signature or not, I just make them, they just happen. The changes in my filmography are gradual, and I see my films as a continuous and ongoing project.
Q. You are one of the few who have turned their name into an adjective. There is a way of seeing the world Almodovarian, Felliniesque, Bunuelian... and Andersonian.
A. All those you mention are special to me for one reason or another. Just as Satyajit Ray or Bergman are. Almodóvar's case is so identifiable because he mainly works in Spain and does so with recurring actors writing his own films. And the latter is common to all of us: we work in a specific way in a specific place with our own stories. But what matters is that we work a lot: we make one film, then another, then another... That's the model. In my case, I'm an exception because I don't stay in one place. Spain or Europe have a long history, but Houston, where I come from, is younger. If I only made movies there, I would limit myself. So I work anywhere but, yes, with a stable group of collaborators.
Q. Have you returned to Spain after Asteroid city?
A. I was there last year. I have a list of favorite restaurants in Barcelona that I try to visit.