Bucking the black tie de rigueur of the premiere of director Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch, in which he stars, Timothée Chalamet brought literal Hollywood golden glamour at the opening night gala of the Cannes Film Festival in France Monday night.
The always fashion forward Chalamet opted for a silver Tom Ford suit that appeared to be covered in a subtle zebra-print pattern.
Chalamet joined Anderson and costars including Bill Murray, Tilda Swinton, Adrien Brody, Benicio Del Toro, and Owen Wilson upon arrival.
— Festival de Cannes (@Festival_Cannes) July 12, 2021
The French Dispatch, due in theaters on October 22, is Anderson’s first film in three years after 2018’s Isle of Dogs. And even though this is his first time working with Chalamet, the acclaimed filmmaker said that he knew the Oscar-nominated star was perfect for his project.
“I had seen Timmy in Lady Bird and Call Me by Your Name, and I never had the inconvenience of ever thinking of anybody else for this role even for a second,” Anderson told GQ. “I knew he was exactly right, and plus: He speaks French and looks like he might actually have walked right out of an Éric Rohmer movie.”
Deadline says of Dispatch: If Wes Anderson hasn’t already been ordained as the king of twee, he certainly will be with The French Dispatch. There can never have been a film so entirely marked and dominated by preciously perfectionist compositions, arcane detail, meticulous camera moves, ornate décor, historical and design minutiae, styles of typography, precision diction, arch attitude, obsessive attention to cultural artifacts and loyalty to Oscar Wilde’s notion that art needn’t express anything other than itself. This is Anderson in full flower, one that only grows in a rarified altitude. As such, it will provoke the full range of reactions, from the euphoric among pure art devotees to outright rejection by, shall we say, those not on speaking terms with ultra-refined tastes.
World premiering in competition at the Cannes Film Festival, this is a film about and for The New Yorker constituency.
The film exudes a love of — and a clear wish to have been around for — expatriate life in France in the 1920s. But instead of Hemingway and Fitzgerald and T.S. Eliot and any other real people who figured in Woody Allen’s wonderfully fanciful Midnight In Paris a decade ago, Anderson introduces a vast array of fictional characters, some of whom bear at least a passing resemblance to actual, if generally lesser-known, individuals.
Variety: Journalists are the heroes in The French Dispatch, so expect film critics to be a little bit biased in their embrace of Wes Anderson’s latest. It flatters the field, after all, just not in the way that Pulitzer-centric mega-scoop sagas All the President’s Men or Spotlight may have done before. Anderson is more of a miniaturist, albeit one whose vision grows more expansive — and more impressive — with each successive project.
Here, the Texas-to-Paris transplant sets out to honor The New Yorker magazine and its ilk, re-creating the joy of losing oneself in a 12,000-word article (or three) on the big screen while relocating the entire affair to his adoptive home. Set in the fictional city of Ennui-sur-Blasé — a cross between Paris and frozen-in-time Angoulême (where most of the exteriors were shot) — the film offers an expat’s-eye view of France, packaged as a series of clips from the eponymous publication.