The Phoenician Scheme – Film Review

Even when Wes Anderson makes a movie that’s not anywhere near as good as most of his other projects, it’s still a pretty decent time at the theatre, and you can always count on his films being loaded with ambition. It’s a singularly stylish espionage black comedy that revels in its own idiosyncrasies. Written, produced, and directed by Anderson from a story co-conceived with Roman Coppola, the film assembles an impressive ensemble cast—including Benicio del Toro, Mia Threapleton, Michael Cera, Riz Ahmed, and Tom Hanks—into a quirky labyrinth of shady deals, double-crosses, and philosophical reckonings. Yet, despite its undeniable charm and meticulous craftsmanship, The Phoenician Scheme feels uneven, with its narrative ambition sometimes at odds with its playful tone.

The film opens with an assassination attempt on industrialist and arms dealer Anatole “Zsa-Zsa” Korda (del Toro). His plane is sabotaged, and in a near-death experience, Korda glimpses a metaphysical tribunal of existential beings weighing his worth. It’s a whimsically surreal prologue that establishes the film’s fascination with fate and moral consequence—a thematic thread Anderson teases throughout, albeit sometimes too lightly to resonate fully.

Back on solid ground, Korda, an amoral but oddly sympathetic tycoon, seeks to secure his empire and appoint his estranged daughter, Sister Liesl (Threapleton), as his temporary successor. Liesl, a novice nun with a dry wit, serves as both a conscience and a foil to her father’s slippery ethics. Their dynamic—oscillating between tender reconciliation and guarded skepticism—provides some of the film’s most engaging moments. Threapleton proves a worthy anchor amidst Anderson’s signature deadpan chaos, offering a performance that feels grounded despite the stylized surroundings.

Joining Korda’s entourage is Bjørn Lund (Michael Cera), a Norwegian entomologist hired initially to indulge Korda’s latest hobby but soon roped into his administrative exploits. Cera leans into his awkward, wide-eyed persona, delivering one of the film’s most delightful performances. His character’s gradual shift from a bystander to a reluctant participant—and ultimately, a surprising ally—adds a sweet dimension to the otherwise cynical proceedings.

The core of the plot centers on Korda’s efforts to finance his grand infrastructure scheme in Phoenicia, a fictional nation depicted through Anderson’s typically meticulous set design. The film’s visual aesthetic—symmetrical framing, pastel color palettes, and exquisitely curated props—remains as distinctive as ever, though at times it feels like a crutch rather than an enhancement. Phoenicia is sketched in broad strokes, with its underground railway, half-finished tunnels, and kitschy 1960s-inspired costumes offering a backdrop more whimsical than immersive.

Korda’s odyssey takes him through a series of confrontations with various investors, fixers, and family members, each scene unfolding like a self-contained vignette. Among the standouts are Riz Ahmed’s dapper yet hapless Prince Farouk—whose involvement in a basketball game of H-O-R-S-E with Korda and his American partners (Tom Hanks as Leland and Bryan Cranston as Reagan) exemplifies the film’s commitment to the absurd—and Benedict Cumberbatch’s delightfully sinister Uncle Nubar, whose icy demeanor masks a deep-seated vendetta. These episodic encounters, while often amusing, can feel disjointed, as though Anderson is more interested in crafting quirky moments than sustaining narrative momentum.

The film’s black comedy tone thrives on Anderson’s signature blend of deadpan delivery and eccentric visual gags. A highlight is the transfusion sequence between Korda and Marty (a scene-stealing Richard Ayoade), which unfolds like a demented ballet of IV drips, suspicious hand grenades, and tense negotiations. Yet, these flourishes occasionally overshadow the film’s more serious undertones—particularly Korda’s gradual moral awakening and the exploration of corruption, exploitation, and accountability.

Benicio del Toro anchors the film with his gruff, world-weary charisma, managing to make Korda both despicable and strangely endearing. His performance captures the tragicomic essence of a man grappling with his own moral failings while navigating a minefield of betrayals. His rapport with Threapleton’s Liesl is one of the film’s saving graces, lending the story a fragile emotional core amidst the otherwise detached quirkiness.

However, The Phoenician Scheme occasionally stumbles under the weight of its own ambitions. The film’s intricate web of plotlines—price-fixing schemes, assassination attempts, philosophical musings—often feels overstuffed, with some threads abandoned or resolved too abruptly. Anderson’s meticulous attention to aesthetic detail sometimes comes at the expense of narrative propulsion, leaving the viewer adrift in a sea of charming but shallow set pieces.

The film’s ending, while thematically satisfying in its embrace of humility and redemption, also feels somewhat predictable. It’s a resolution that’s visually delightful yet emotionally undercooked, leaving the audience with the sense that the film’s big questions—about power, complicity, and responsibility—have been asked but not fully explored.

Musically, the film boasts a playful score that blends vintage jazz with occasional whimsical orchestration—a familiar hallmark of Anderson’s films. Alexandre Desplat’s compositions, while pleasant and evocative, sometimes feel like a rehash of previous Anderson collaborations, contributing to the sense of stylistic déjà vu that permeates the film.

In the end, The Phoenician Scheme is a curious beast: an espionage black comedy that never quite achieves the tension or gravitas its subject matter might suggest, yet one that nonetheless charms with its idiosyncratic flair. Wes Anderson devotees will find plenty to admire in the film’s production design, offbeat humor, and ensemble performances, but those hoping for a more cohesive or emotionally impactful story may find themselves yearning for something deeper.

The Phoenician Scheme is a stylish, visually arresting, and intermittently hilarious addition to Wes Anderson’s oeuvre. It’s a film brimming with charm, but its scattered focus and overstuffed plotting prevent it from achieving the thematic depth it seems to seek. Nonetheless, thanks to strong performances—especially from Benicio del Toro, Mia Threapleton, and Michael Cera—and Anderson’s trademark aesthetic, it remains an entertaining, if uneven, cinematic curiosity.