Wes Anderson is back in full force with The Phoenician Scheme, a film that, on the surface, feels like one of his goofiest efforts yet—but if you peer under the curtain of perfectly framed scenes and deadpan one-liners, there’s something bigger at play. Compared to the intellectual heft and emotional surprises of Asteroid City, Anderson’s latest may seem lighter, almost like a stylish joke told by a genius. But don’t be fooled: there’s a deep moral and spiritual inquiry simmering just beneath the symmetrical surface.
Right off the bat, the film comes across as an absurdist farce—a whimsical rollercoaster of physical comedy, sight gags, and deadpan reactions—but it’s also very much a reflection on legacy, mortality, and the question of whether redemption is ever truly possible, especially for the powerful.
Meet Zsa-zsa Korda: Part Mogul, Part Madman
Benicio del Toro plays Zsa-zsa Korda, a billionaire businessman who might also be part-time lunatic. The film opens with a hilarious and shocking set-piece: Korda survives his sixth plane crash. That’s right—sixth. A passenger gets blown in half mid-air, a pilot gets fired mid-plunge, and yet Korda walks away, disheveled but alive. This isn’t just slapstick—it’s setting the tone for a character who lives on the brink, constantly dodging death and never quite asking why.
Soon we find out someone’s trying to kill him—or multiple someones. So, Korda does what any eccentric billionaire would do in his situation: he decides it’s time to name a successor. The twist? He’s got nine sons, many of whom he adopted not out of love, but as a numbers game—hoping one might turn out to be the next Einstein. But ultimately, his eyes fall on someone very different: his biological daughter, Liesl, a nun played with quiet confidence by Mia Threapleton.
Korda wants to make one final deal before stepping back, and he wants Liesl by his side for it. But this isn’t just about teaching her business. It’s about doing it differently this time—morally, cleanly. No more sweatshops. No more exploitation. At least, that’s the pitch.
A Starry Circus of Characters
From here, The Phoenician Scheme becomes a globe-trotting tale, almost like Around the World in 80 Deals, with Korda and Liesl meeting a wild lineup of potential partners, investors, and obstacles. There’s Farouk (Riz Ahmed), a quiet prince with mysterious motives; a pair of hilariously rigid brothers (Tom Hanks and Bryan Cranston); the sultry and cryptic nightclub owner Marseille Bob (Mathieu Amalric); and the loud American businessman Marty (Jeffrey Wright) with his sharp cousin Hilda (Scarlett Johansson). And that’s just scratching the surface.
Eventually, the two run into Uncle Nubar, played by Benedict Cumberbatch with a gleeful descent into madness—imagine an exiled Russian czar trapped in a fever dream. Oh, and did we mention Bill Murray plays God? Yes, in Wes Anderson’s world, God is deadpan and wears vintage suits. It’s a move that somehow feels both blasphemous and deeply spiritual.
Even with all these recognizable faces, one actor walks away with the movie: Michael Cera. That’s right—Cera, in arguably his best-ever performance, plays an awkward but brilliant tutor with a shady past and unexpected karate skills. He’s like Max Fischer from Rushmore grown up, mellowed out, but still weird. Cera blends perfectly into Anderson’s world, delivering lines with a rhythm that feels like music. He’s hilarious, endearing, and, at times, deeply moving.
So What’s It All About?
This is where things get a bit murky. Unlike The French Dispatch, which was dense with vignettes and fast-talking journalists, or Asteroid City, which hid existential dread in pastel sci-fi, The Phoenician Scheme feels deliberately obscure. There’s a subplot involving Liesl’s mother that hints at murder, but it barely registers. The “scheme” referenced in the title remains mostly undefined, buried beneath vague business-speak and confusing negotiations. Why exactly does Korda need Farouk’s help, or Marseille Bob’s nightclub money? Your guess is as good as mine.
The actual plot almost feels like a distraction—a scaffolding built just to showcase the jokes, characters, and ideas that Anderson finds interesting. On one hand, this is frustrating: we’re following characters without understanding what they’re doing. But on the other, maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’re not meant to get lost in business details, but in the emotional truths underneath.
Anderson’s New Obsession: Heaven and Hell (and What Lies Between)
Underneath the playful tone and quirky visuals, Anderson is working through some big themes here. Every time Korda “dies” in one of the multiple assassination attempts, the movie cuts to Heaven. Not metaphorical heaven—actual heaven. We see biblical tableaus, grand and surreal, and each time, it’s unclear whether Korda’s earned his spot past the gates. Spoiler: he hasn’t.
This running gag is more than a joke. It’s Anderson confronting mortality, guilt, and the soul’s worth. In a sense, this film is The Grand Budapest Hotel meets A Christmas Carol, with Korda in the Scrooge role—except instead of ghosts, he gets a daughter who’s a nun, a tutor with secrets, and a constant barrage of people who remind him of what he’s done to get where he is.
The spiritual themes aren’t hammered in, but they linger. Korda’s lifestyle—excess, ego, control—is weighed against the love and redemption offered by Liesl. And even though Anderson pulls back from pushing any real religious agenda, there’s something sincere in how he stages these heavenly interludes. They’re funny, yes—but they’re also poignant.
The Problem of Power (and How We Laugh at It)
There’s also a clear commentary here on oligarchy and how the ultra-wealthy operate in a space that most of us can’t even comprehend. Korda isn’t just rich—he’s mythic. He adopts children like baseball teams draft players, hoping one turns out to be a star. He casually destroys people’s lives if they get in his way. And yet, we’re supposed to root for him?
Anderson walks a fine line here. He’s interested in redemption, yes, but also in calling out how power works. One of the recurring gags involves literal hand grenades that wealthy characters play with like stress balls—casual violence as a side effect of luxury. The deeper message? These people are so far removed from reality that they treat life and death like games.
Why This Film Might Divide Wes Anderson Fans
Here’s the thing: if you’re looking for narrative clarity or emotional catharsis, The Phoenician Scheme might leave you cold. The pacing stutters, the plot meanders, and the characters often talk in riddles. But if you tune in to the frequency Anderson is broadcasting from—one part comedy, one part moral parable—it’s an oddly satisfying experience.
In fact, the more time you spend with the film, the more its pieces start to fit together. Korda’s absurd mottos—like “If something gets in your way, flatten it”—aren’t just punchlines; they’re confessions. This is a man who’s bulldozed his way through life, and now he’s asking if there’s anything left to believe in. His quest isn’t just about succession or business—it’s about saving his soul.
Sure, Anderson could have pushed harder on the themes of political and personal corruption. There’s a sharper version of this film that goes darker, that digs deeper into the rot beneath Korda’s empire. But that’s not this movie. The Phoenician Scheme wants to stay playful. It wants to make you laugh even as it makes you think. And in that delicate balance, it manages something kind of beautiful.
Final Thoughts: A Little Movie with Big Questions
In the end, The Phoenician Scheme feels like one of Anderson’s quieter reflections—tucked inside a loud, ridiculous package. It’s both featherlight and spiritually loaded. It’s a goofy caper about a man trying to secure his empire, and a thoughtful meditation on how the pursuit of power often ends in emptiness.
So no, it might not be your favorite Wes Anderson film. It doesn’t have the heartbreak of The Royal Tenenbaums or the adrenaline of Fantastic Mr. Fox. But it does something different. It asks you to reconsider what really matters at the end of a long, messy life. It asks whether someone who’s flattened everything in his path can ever see the world clearly again.
Turns out, maybe this one isn’t so slight after all.
